A Tale of Two Murders
by coolbyrne
Summary: AU Old West Jane & Maura go to Toronto to investigate the disappearance of a girl. Along the way, they find something much larger, along with a little matter of unresolved attraction between a Toronto detective and coroner. (Technically a cross-over, though with an AU, it's hard to say. Characters include those from Murdoch Mysteries. PLEASE NOTE: Case-file only, no smut.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: As I mention in a slightly longer note at the end of this chapter, I'll be interested in seeing who actually reads this story considering it's an AU crossover with a Canadian show! It reads more like original fiction, but I hope that won't dissuade people from giving it a chance. I would consider this a sequel to 'Possum', which you might want to read first if you're interested in getting to know Jane and Maura. I will note, the Jane/Maura relationship is established, and William/Julia are not a couple in 1899, so you won't find any smut in this one, I'm afraid. Pure murder mystery that brings together my two favourite pairings.

For happycamper5, who always gets drawn into my adventures.

…..

The cabin was quiet as dawn inched its way through the window. By noon, the Wyoming sun would force hats to be pushed back and handkerchiefs to mop brows, but for now, the night chill tried in vain to hold off the heat. It was doing a good enough job that Jane burrowed deeper under the covers to shield against the breeze blowing against her-

She bolted upright, and her hair and countenance were rewarded by a laugh from across the room. Scowling at both the response and the source of her unwarranted alarm, she said, "Why is the door open? What time is it?"

"Patches wanted out," Maura replied. "And it's-"

"Doesn't matter." Jane flopped back into her pillow and pulled the blanket over her head. "Why are you up so early?" came the muffled question. "Come back to bed and warm me up."

The combination of pitiful request and forceful demand drew out another laugh. "The Dromans are coming by this morning to get their teeth checked." While her qualifications and her interests lay in medicine, as the town's only doctor, the degree was often seen as a general knowledge in everything from dentistry to general health to autopsies. It had taken her some time to get used to the expectations, but after 6 years in Beybeck, it had become just another facet of the job. She dropped the egg in the pan and added, "And you told Barry you'd help him move his horses to Canyon Pass."

Another groan from the bed. "I forgot."

"Then, dinner with the Blacks."

The groan slid into a whine. "How can I be so busy? The place has 1000 people."

Maura laughed. "You have two things to do today. I think you'll manage."

Jane folded the edge of the blanket back so her eyes were showing. "I can think of one thing I'd like to do today."

Tending to the egg, Maura didn't notice the suggestive eyebrow. "Oh? What would that be?" When she received no response, she turned to the bed. "I see," she said, her poorly veiled smirk undermining her stern tone. "You're incorrigible. And your egg is ready."

…..

They rode together until the fork in the road led Maura to go south towards Beybeck and Jane north to Barry Frost's ranch. She enjoyed the ride in silence until the familiar house appeared in the distance. Her arrival caught the attention of a ranch hand who tipped his hat to her and shouted over his shoulder. Barry's affable face appeared from behind him.

"Jane," he said with a grin. "Only 20 minutes late. Everything okay between you and Dr. Isles?"

The ranch hand snickered and Jane glowered under the red blush that rose to her cheeks. "Frost, it's been five years. You're never not going to poke me about her, are you?"

He beamed. "Nope. She's the only thing that makes your face turn that colour. I gotta play that card every chance I get."

"Whatever," she replied, though secretly, she was always grateful for his acceptance. Not all the townsfolk embraced her relationship with Maura as willingly, though most seemed to find a tolerable middle ground. Jane knew she'd never win over everyone, so she only focused on those who mattered most. Barry Frost was one of them. "We're 20 minutes behind. Let's go."

…..

She had been sheriff for over 15 years, but sometimes. she wondered how things would be if she had gone a different route. Out in the open air, the sounds of animals and riders working in tandem, the gentle sway of the horse under her, broken every so often by a trot or short gallop. The trip had only taken a few hours there and back, and now she rested with her foot on the fence and her arms hanging over the top beam.

"You'd hate it."

Jane spun at the voice. Frost sauntered up to the rail and mirrored her pose.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "The great outdoors, wind through your hair." They both laughed, knowing his short cropped cut enjoyed none of that wind. "It's not you, Jane. You were always cut out for something more than just this." Seeing her frown, he quickly said, "I don't mean there's anything wrong with this; it's an honest living and I love it. But you've got the law in your blood. You wouldn't be you."

They were silent for a brief moment before Jane blew out a snort. "Sakes alive, Frost, did Maura give you one of her philosophy books?"

"I'm just sayin'. Besides, you think it's tough being a woman sheriff? Woman ranch owner is 10 times tougher."

"Tougher than a black man being a ranch owner?"

A short laugh conceded her point. "I pay them well."

"Speaking of payment," she said, "I believe you told me you'd give me some of that whiskey you got sent in from Tennessee."

He grinned. "That I did. Not too early?"

She tipped her hat back and looked into the sky. "It's past noon. Just don't tell Maura."

…..

Her first stop back into Beybeck was the doctor's small building that was nestled just off main street. After a stern word to her horse, Jane swung to the ground and gave a short rap on the door before walking in. The place hadn't changed much since Maura had become the town doctor, though she had finally moved Phineas' old desk, a year after he passed. She'd kept his chair though; she seemed to take comfort in having it close, as if he was still watching over her. As she always did, Jane touched her hat in the chair's direction before turning to Maura. The doctor was holding up a glass tube.

"Is that… a tooth?" Jane grimaced.

"Yes," Maura smiled. "The Dromans' dog had a toothache. Fortunately, the rest of the family was fine."

"That's the dog's tooth?"

"Yes. You never know when I might need to reference one."

"I guess." Jane stepped around the desk and lightly kissed Maura on the lips. "How was your morning? I mean, besides pulling a dog's tooth?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Maura replied. "How was your whiskey?" She laughed at Jane's expression at being caught out. "I might have to order some in. It's sweeter than I thought." She swayed and wiped her lips with her index finger.

"You're a tease, Dr. Isles." She kissed her again. "I'm on my way to the saloon to catch up on the gossip. Would you like to come with me?"

Maura shook her head. "Unfortunately, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. Besides, everyone knows the best gossip is found at the general store."

Jane bobbed her head in agreement. "That's true. But all the new faces are at the saloon." With faster migration to the west coast, trains came through Beybeck twice as often as they did 10 years ago. Some were just visiting, but many added to the town's population over the years.

"You just want to assert your authority," Maura teased.

Jane's fingers found their way to Maura's hips. "Work seems to be the only place I have authority these days."

Outlining the silver star on Jane's vest, Maura replied innocently, "I didn't realize that was a problem… elsewhere."

Jane's cheeks burned and she looked away first, like she always did. "Not fair."

Maura's chuckle was seductive and free. "Go on," she said with a kiss. "But no more whiskey."

…..

Despite the swinging door, the saloon was cool, and Jane welcomed the change in temperature. She pulled the fabric away from her body as her eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings. As she expected, there were a few unfamiliar faces at the bar, but for the most part, everything seemed in its right place, including the three at the corner table.

"Zeke, why do I always find you here?"

Ezekiel Black's transition from a boy to a teen to a young man seemed to happen much quicker than the 22 years Jane had known him. She took some measure of pride in that development as well as his growth as a lawman.

"This is where you find the best gossip, Sheriff," he replied, much to the chagrin of the two men sitting with him.

Stubby Thompson grunted. "I take offense to that."

An elegantly dressed man across the table said, "I believe the best gossip is at Matt Cooper's."

Jane grinned. "You'll be happy to know Dr. Isles feels the same, Edward."

The tailor bowed his head at winning the point.

"Sit for a few hands, Sheriff?" Stubby asked. "3-hand poker ain't much of a game."

Pulling up a chair, she said, "I think I can spare a few, at least until Frost shows up."

Ten hands and a dollar down later, Jane flicked her eyes towards the door. "Zeke. Is that Mrs. Murphy?"

The entire table turned to look. The very idea of Ruth Murphy, Beybeck's moral arbitrator, lurking near the saloon was enough to stop the game in mid-deal.

"That's her hat," Edward noted. "I made a dress to match."

"She's gone by three times," Jane said.

"What the devil for?" Zeke asked.

Stubby opened his mouth to throw in a retort, but the sound of the swinging doors snapped his jaw shut. Every local in the room quickly turned and pulled their hats down. If she'd had any hesitation about coming into the saloon, the 50 year old didn't show it once she stepped in. Her march was assured and her path was direct. In five short strides, she stood in front of Jane's table.

"Sheriff." It was a greeting, a statement and an admonishment all rolled into one.

Jane's attempt to cover the cards and the whiskey was for naught. "Mrs. Murphy. What are you doing here?"

"I would ask the same, but that's fairly obvious. Mr. Harrington," she admonished.

The tailor had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Your visit, Mrs. Murphy?" Jane prompted.

"Yes, well, it's something of a personal nature."

A thought suddenly came to her. "Is Mr. Murphy okay?"

The older woman blinked. "What? Oh, yes. I realize my appearance here might evoke that kind of alarm, but he's well."

Jane blew out a sigh of relief. "Good. Would you like to go somewhere private?"

She looked around the room with a wrinkled nose. "As much as I object to this establishment, I suppose there's no sense pretending news wouldn't get out by morning regardless of where I share it."

"End of day if you go to Cooper's," Stubby muttered, but was quickly stifled by Mrs. Murphy's glare and a kick under the table from Jane.

"Mrs. Murphy," Jane encouraged.

She took a deep breath. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a telegram and handed it to Jane. "My niece has gone missing. We've contacted the local authorities, but they've chosen to ignore our pleas."

"Niece?" Zeke repeated. "We haven't been told of any missing person, Mrs. Murphy."

"Not in Beybeck, Zeke," Jane said, scanning the telegram. "Toronto."

Stubby frowned. "Toronto? Where's that?"

"I think it's that new settlement in Utah," Zeke said.

Edward shook his head. "No. It's a city in Canada." All eyes turned to him. "I often get fabric sent from Chicago. News is, some of the best designs are coming from Toronto."

"The secret lives of tailors," Jane mused.

Zeke's eyes grew wide. "Canada," he whispered.

"Based on this, she hasn't been heard from in over a week," Jane said. "How do you know she's missing?"

Mrs. Murphy scoffed. "She's a devout young woman who is very dedicated to her studies. She would never just up and leave. She's never once been in any sort of trouble."

Not wanting to remind the woman that image didn't always reflect in action, particularly with young people, Jane tried a different tact. "No boyfriends?"

"No." She firmly shook her head. "I told you, she's not that type of girl."

"Is your sister in Toronto?" Zeke asked.

"Etobicoke." Before anyone could ask, she said, "A short train from Toronto."

Jane took in the information. "So what was-" she glanced at the paper, "Virginia doing there?"

Ruth sighed. "My sister allowed her to accept a placement in one of the Toronto hospitals. Against my better judgement, I might add."

"Of course," Jane replied. "So she wanted to be a nurse."

"Yes."

Jane was silent for a moment. "I don't know how I can help you, Mrs. Murphy. I mean, I can contact the Toronto police, but I don't know if they'll listen to me any more than they did you."

"I don't want you to contact them."

Jane's eyes went from Zeke to Stubby to Edward then to Ruth. "I'm not sure what-"

"I want you to go to Toronto," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Pardon?"

"It's apparent they've simply ignored my telegrams, assuming I would just leave them alone, no doubt. You can force them to do something."

"I can't just-"

"I will pay all expenses, of course." She clutched her purse. "I don't have much, but I do have savings. Joseph has agreed."

Jane waved her hands. "I'm not taking your money, Mrs. Murphy."

"But you will take the case. Thank you, Sheriff." She moved forward and lightly touched Jane's shoulder, a rare display of affection. "Thank you, Jane."

Jane's mouth dropped open to object, but by the time the words came to her, Mrs. Murphy was gone, leaving a handful of admonishments and embarrassed men in her wake.

…

"Toronto!" Zeke said in amazement. "It'll be like when you went to Paris! Maybe even better! Do you think it's like Paris, Mr. Harrington?"

"I don't know, Ezekiel," Edward said. "I've never been to either."

"Don't know why anyone would want to leave Beybeck," Stubby groused.

"Listen," Jane said, finding her voice at last, "I'm not going to Toronto. I don't even know where that is."

"Canada," Zeke supplied with youthful innocence.

She clenched her jaw and glowered. "I got that part, Zeke." Deflated, she sat back in her seat. "How did this happen? I didn't even agree to go, and now she thinks I'm going."

Stubby barked out a laugh. "She doesn't think you're going, Sheriff. She's making you go."

"You'll have to take the train to Chicago and switch from there," Edward said. "Do you think you could pick up some fabric on the way back?"

Seeing his poorly concealed smirk, she humourlessly replied, "Ha ha. I'm not going."

"I'll bet today's winnings that you are, Sheriff," Stubby wagered.

She stood and adjusted her hat. "The only place I'm going is to your house," she said, directing her comment at Zeke. "Your mother invited me and Maura. Don't you say a word about this. To either of them. Though knowing these two," she wagged her finger at Stubby and Edward, "you won't have to."

The two men claimed their innocence, but neither could disguise their laughter as Jane stomped out of the saloon.

…..

A/N: I have no idea who's going to read this besides my wife. It is a Rizzoli & Isles AU that crosses over with a Canadian detective show called 'Murdoch Mysteries', so Rizzles fans are going to be somewhat confused, and Murdoch fans won't have a clue what's going on. LOL! Anyway, give it a shot; you might just like it! I would recommend reading "Possum" first, though it's not entirely necessary. For those who have read it, I will note I blurred the time line by jumping it ahead from 1883 to 1899, but my references in this story to Jane and Maura's relationship don't fit that 16 year jump. Pretend "Possum" took place in 1893. :)

Some historical mentions:

-The whiskey Jane references is Jack Daniels, established 1875

-You pronounce it Eh-toe-bick-oh


	2. Chapter 2

"You're awfully quiet," Maura said.

Their horses trotted side-by-side on the road to the Blacks. Jane had kept the encounter at the saloon to herself, wanting to let it work itself out.

"It's okay." Seeing Maura's doubting eyebrow, she said, "I'll tell you all about it later."

"You sure everything all right?"

"Yeah. Just got something bouncing around in my head.."

The assurance seemed to be enough, because they lapsed into a comfortable silence once more. The house was in shouting distance when a floppy-haired boy ran towards them. In the years Jane had known the family, there was always someone to greet her, largely due to the 11 children. The faces changed as they grew up, and now it was the youngest's duty.

"Jaaaaane!" His heavy run made the 'a' stutter like a washboard. He reached the horses, and out of breath, wheezed, "Miss Isles."

"Hello, Simon," Maura smiled at the 7-year old.

"You gonna make it, Simon, or do I need to throw you on the back of the horse?"

He grinned, revealing a gap in his smile. "I can make it!"

"You've lost your teeth," Maura noted.

"Nathaniel tied a string to 'em and pulled 'em out!" He was so proud of the accomplishment that he missed Maura's wince.

"Lead the horses in, you little masochist," Jane said.

Reaching the barn, Jane and Maura dismounted and left the young boy to tend to the horses. She peeked through a window before opening the door, but didn't bother to knock. The Blacks had treated her as one of their own after her father died, and she had welcomed them into her life. As with their greeter, faces inside the old house had changed. Sons and daughters, no longer children despite Jane's best efforts to pretend otherwise, moved on to their own lives. A house that once was the shelter for 13 people now only held 8. A wave of nostalgia washed over her.

"My goodness, you look like you've just lost your best friend!" Susan Black, the matriarch, enveloped Jane in a warm hug.

"Just thinking how quiet this place is getting," Jane said, feigning annoyance at the embrace.

The reaction rolled off Susan's back. "Yes, isn't it wonderful?" Jane's open mouth response made Susan laugh out loud. "Oh, Jane."

There was something in the woman's expression that gave Jane pause. "What is it?"

"What's what?"

"Your face. What are you hiding?"

Susan blew a strand of hair from her forehead. "You've been a lawman too long. Always suspicious. Hello, Maura."

The two women hugged. "Hello, Susan. Thank you for having us."

"Anytime," she replied. "More you than this one."

Seeing the thumb jerked in her direction, Jane made a face. "So funny."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

Susan shook her head at Maura's question. "No. Unless you want to round up the strays and get them to the table."

Jane narrowed her eyes, trying to divine the meaning behind Susan's expression. Finding no answer, she asked, "Who's all here?"

"The usual group of rabble-rousers. And Ezekiel. Check out back. Joshua was getting them to help with the fence."

"Get that apple cobbler recipe from her while I round up the brood," Jane told Maura, much to Susan's amusement.

Even if she hadn't been told where to go, the noise would have led her to the group behind the house. The difference between what she expected and what she saw made her laugh.

"Your mother thinks you're working!"

Faces turned to Jane, and she was greeted with shouts and waves.

"We're playing baseball!" Nathan hollered by way of explanation.

"We're working on Samuel's throwing," Ezekiel corrected.

Out of the 8 players, 5 stood in the field while Samuel threw to his father. Isaiah was trying to hit the ball that went past him again and again.

"Strike three," Joshua announced. "That means your turn's over, Isaiah."

He threw the bat to the ground. "Darn it!"

"You want to give it a chance, Jane?"

She shook her head at the patriarch. "He throws like I shoot, Joshua." To the young man, she said, "You've gotten better and better, Samuel."

"I'm gonna play for Pittsburgh!" he crowed.

Jane frowned and turned to Zeke.

"A gentleman travelling around looking for players came to look at Samuel," he said. "He thinks he can throw for the Pirates."

"He's 14," Jane said.

"Said with the right amount of practice, he could attend training next fall, maybe get on the minor league team. Rumour is, the league is going to add more teams in a few years and they'll need more players." Joshua shrugged, almost in disbelief.

"I'm gonna be Cy Young!"

"You're gonna be a cooked goose if you don't get in that house in five minutes," Jane said. She looked at the rest of the group. "Unless you want me to eat all your cobbler. Up to-"

She didn't get the words out of her mouth before shouts and squeals and feet rushed past.

…..

Despite four of the oldest girls moving away for marriage or schooling, the table was still quietly controlled chaos, the volume turned down only during grace. Plates were passed and drinks were poured and routine settled in. Jane reached for the potatoes that Susan offered when something in the woman's countenance caught her attention.

"What?"

Susan shook her head. "Nothing."

"You can do a lot of things, Susan," Jane said, "but you could never lie. Spit it out."

She looked away and feigned innocence. Jane scrutinized her face but gleaned nothing. Turning to Zeke, she discovered the son wasn't as good as his mother.

"You told her."

"Told her what?" He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth to avoid having to say more.

Jane was having none of it. "You're really going to try that with me?"

Their eyelock lasted all of 30 seconds before the young man broke. Pushing the bread into his cheek, he whined, "She just figured it out somehow."

"Somehow, huh?"

Maura watched the volley between Jane and Zeke, then looked at Susan. "What are they talking about?"

Susan shook her head to defer to Jane, but she was having none of it. "Oh, no, Susan," Jane said. "Do the honours."

"Oh, Jane, don't be angry."

"What are they talking about?" Maura repeated.

Realizing Jane wouldn't budge, Susan sighed. "Toronto."

Maura frowned in confusion. "The city in Canada?"

"Yes." A sliver of excitement slipped back into Susan's voice. "Mrs. Murphy asked Jane to go to Toronto and she agreed."

"Now wait a minute," Jane interrupted. "I told her there was nothing I could do. She assumes I'm going to Toronto. I am not going to Toronto."

"I still don't quite understand."

Zeke picked up the explanation for Maura. "Mrs. Murphy thinks her niece is missing. She's from Otokobo."

"Etobicoke," Jane corrected.

"That's a funny name," Simon grinned.

"She might have gone missing in Toronto," Zeke went on. "Mrs. Murphy's been trying to get the local police to help, but they're not, least not to her satisfaction." Even the children at the table knew what that meant. "So she asked the sheriff to go to Toronto and pursue the case."

"And I never said 'yes'," she replied firmly.

"But you didn't say 'no'," Zeke said, unable to hide his own grin.

Jane replayed the conversation in her head. Sighing at the truth, she said, "No, I guess I didn't."

"So, Toronto!" Susan beamed. "That sounds exciting!"

"Canada!" Nathaniel marvelled. "How will you get there?"

"Mr. Harrington said you'd have to take a train to Chicago then to Toronto," Zeke answered.

"Etobicoke. Toronto. Chicago," Isaiah said. "Oh, oh, oh. Beybecko!"

The table laughed at his impromptu song. Susan continued to enthuse about the idea.

"What do you think it's like?"

"Oh, they're quite modern!" Maura replied. "Electricity throughout the city. Telephones in businesses and some homes."

Isaiah's brow bent downward. "Telephones?"

"They replace the telegraph. You can speak to someone in another home through a device you bring up to your mouth. You can hear them with another piece you put to your ear."

Maura might as well have told them the horses outside had just sprouted wings. Though the instrument had been around for over 20 years, as with most things, it took longer to leave the cities.

"Wow," Simon whispered.

"Did Paris have telephones?" Susan asked.

Maura nodded. "Oh, yes. They've had telephones since 1878. The introduction was meant to mark l'Exposition Universelle."

The slight accent piqued Zeke's interest. "Do they talk like that in Canada?"

"In parts, yes," she replied.

"Wow," Simon repeated.

"You know," Maura continued, "Toronto is having the very first Canadian Exposition over the next 2 months." She saw the curious faces. "Traders and inventors from all over the country congregate in Toronto to celebrate the country's diversity. Chicago had a similar one 5 years ago, though that was a world fair."

Susan all but clapped. "Imagine the things you'll see!"

"I'd love to get something from Canada!" Nathan said.

The children looked at each other, then to Maura.

"Me, too!"

"Can I have something?"

"I want a puppy!"

Joshua had been silent during the conversation, but Jane's frustrated sigh compelled him to speak. "May I remind everyone the only reason Jane and Maura would go to Toronto would be to investigate the disappearance of a young girl? Mrs. Murphy's niece may be missing. I know she's…" He paused to find the right word. "Prickly, but put yourself in her shoes."

Heads lowered in shame.

"Thank you, Joshua." Jane smiled in gratitude. Offering some forgiveness, she said, "Look. I get it, and you're right - it sounds exciting. But the circumstance is kind of serious, isn't it? Besides, it's Toronto. I've never been to Canada."

"But you went to Paris," Isaiah reminded her.

She tried not to scowl at his logic. "You're not helping me here, kid."

Maura touched Jane's arm and said to the group, "She's right. And Joshua's right. Mrs. Murphy's niece should be paramount in our minds." Jane was just about to nod her thanks when Maura added, "And I'll make sure we're not distracted by the surroundings or polite Canadians."

Jane could only groan.

…..

"You're serious about Toronto."

They lay in bed, the small kerosene lamp the only light in the cabin, while Patches snored quietly near the door. The dinner had continued on to other subjects, some truths and some gossip, and Jane had been glad to let the subject drop. But, she knew it still sat between her and Maura, like an envelope begging to be opened.

"Yes. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I think we're serious about different things."

Maura shifted in Jane's arms. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're serious about going and I'm serious about, well, not going."

The light illuminated Maura's smile. "Oh, Jane. Don't you want to see the world?" Before Jane could reply, she ventured a different tactic. "Don't you want to find out what happened to Mrs. Murphy's niece? To give her an answer, no matter what that might be? She came to you for a reason, Jane. She swallowed her pride because she believes you are the only person who can help her."

Jane grunted. "Oh, you're good. I like that little bit of flattery you went for there." She jumped back at Maura's pinch. "I do have a job here, you know."

"Yes, finding out who the perpetrators of the post office vandalism was very important. Those mice didn't know who they were messing with."

"Hey! You know I hate mice. That was a difficult case."

Wrapping her arms around Jane's waist, Maura softly cooed, "My brave sheriff."

"Hmph. Anyway, what about your job? Isn't Sheila Marshall due any day now?"

"4 weeks," Maura said. "And it's her 6th child. She could likely deliver it herself. Besides, it will be no different than when we went to Paris. Dr. Eccleson is still only 30 minutes away, and Ezekiel was more than capable."

"I had Gary Winslow come in to help."

"And at 19, perhaps he needed a Rifleman to make sure things went smoothly. But he's 22 now, Jane. In the long run, giving him this responsibility might be the best thing for his development as a lawman."

"I hate your logic."

She reached back to lower the flame before curling around Jane's angles. "No, you don't. You love me."

In the dark, Jane pressed her lips to Maura's hair and whispered, "Yeah, I love you." She didn't need the light to feel Maura's smile against her skin.

…..

"So you know how to reach us at the hotel?"

Zeke rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm not sure. Can you tell me again for the 34th time?"

"Don't be a smart-aleck," Jane warned him as the train rolled into the station.

"Yeah, sheriff," he said, this time with some sincerity in his voice. "The Windsor House Hotel. Room 508. You're switching trains in Chicago, which'll take you around 28 hours to get there. Then you gotta 8 hour trip on…" He snapped his fingers to conjure the name. "Canadian Pacific Railway. To Toronto. A day and a half."

"Almost 6 full days less than how long it took to get to Paris," Maura said brightly.

"Yay!" Jane exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm.

"I wish I was going," Zeke said, looking down at his boots.

Realizing she had opportunity that was never afforded to the young man, she suddenly felt guilty. "One day, we'll go together, Zeke," she promised.

His eyes lifted with hope. "Really, Jane?"

"Sure."

"I believe you."

"Good. And, you know, despite how it sounds, I believe in you, too. Leaving you in charge."

He touched his hat. "That means a lot. I won't let you down."

The train blew a billow of steam, and Jane sighed. "I guess that's our signal." She held out her hand to shake his, then drew him in for a surprise hug. "Don't let the town burn down, okay?"

…..

A/N: I referenced Jane and Maura going to Paris because I intend to write that story one day!

-The baseball league expanded to include the American League in 1901. Scouts travelled the country looking for players.

-The World Fair took place in Chicago in 1893, setting this story in 1899.


	3. Chapter 3

The women disembarked at Union Station, and Jane tipped her hat back to let the sun hit her face.

"As much as I like the train, I never want to sit down again." She drew in a deep breath of Toronto air. "I'm trying not to think we've got to do that all over again on the way back."

"Didn't I keep you properly occupied?"

The coyness in Maura's voice painted Jane's cheeks red. "So funny," she said. Reaching down for the luggage, she suggested, "Let's find a carriage and get to the hotel. I'd like to find that police station before dinner."

There were plenty of carriages for hire and after giving the driver the address, they were on their way. Through the windows, they took in the sights.

"Not quite Paris," Jane remarked, "but it's all right."

"You didn't like Paris," Maura reminded her.

"Not true. I didn't like the food. The people were fine."

Maura chuckled. "Once they agreed not to arrest you for wearing pants."

She nodded at the memory. "Doesn't look like that's a problem here, but I thought I was going to have to pick the driver's jaw off the ground.

"Scandalous!" Maura teased before touching Jane's arm. "Does it bother you?"

"No. It's always been something. My hat, my gun, my pants. My relationships. Scandalous!" Maura smiled at the teasing in Jane's voice. "I'm 42. Not much is going to get to me anymore."

"Good," Maura said, giving the arm a squeeze. "But if you change your mind, Mr. Harrington gave me the addresses of some lovely dress shops."

They arrived at the hotel just in time to save Maura from a withering retort.

…..

"Sir. Dr. Ogden. Sorry to interrupt, but you have visitors."

The pair turned from the chalkboard to face the young constable.

"Who is it, George?" the man asked.

"Two officials from a small town in Wyoming called Beybeck. It's about a missing person. They didn't say much more than that, I'm afraid."

"Show them in."

When he left the room, the doctor turned back to the board. "Perhaps I've gotten the angle wrong," she said.

The detective frowned. "Perhaps. I just… we're overlooking something here, Julia."

"We'll get back to it later, William," she promised. "In the meantime, I should..." Her voice trailed off when she saw the visitors enter the room. "Stay right here."

The sound of wonder in her voice made him turn to the door.

George couldn't quite hide his smile. "Detective William Murdoch. Dr. Julia Ogden. This is Sheriff Jane Rizzoli and Dr. Maura Isles."

William's eyes registered his surprise, though he did well to keep his face blank. Julia held no such reservation and openly admired the visitors. Right before the silence could stretch into awkwardness, Jane leaned into Maura and stage-whispered, "Is it the hat, the gun or the pants?"

"Based on the angle of their interest, I'd say the pants."

The overt teasing snapped Murdoch out of his stupor. "Where are my manners? Detective William Murdoch," he said, extending his hand.

"Yeah, I got that bit from?" Jane turned to the constable.

"Oh! George. George Crabtree. Constable George Crabtree."

William watched him stumble over his words. "Don't you have something you need to be doing, George?"

"No, sir. Nothing pressing at the moment."

The detective briefly closed his eyes at the reply. "Indeed." To Jane, he said, "And you've been introduced to Dr. Ogden."

"Pleasure to meet the both of you," Julia said.

Introductions out of the way, William prompted Jane with a soft smile. "What can we do for you today, Sheriff?" If he was unused to pairing the job with a woman, he didn't show it.

"I sent you a telegram 3 days ago. From Beybeck. Wyoming."

His face lit up at the reminder. "Ah, yes. About a missing girl. I'm sorry you've come all this way, but as I mentioned in my reply, there's not much we can do after the initial investigation."

Jane nodded. "And I understand. This is more about me doing a favour for someone."

"A Ruth Murphy by chance?" he asked.

"Yeah. I take it you got her telegrams, too."

His lips twitched. Making the short journey to his desk, he opened a drawer, took out a stack of papers and placed them on top. "Oh yes."

Maura looked away to hide her smile and Jane simply shook her head. "I apologize. She's what you'd call stubborn. And a busybody."

"Indeed."

"But, she's our busybody, and I told her I'd make sure everything was being done to find her niece. Not that I don't think you're doing your job," she added quickly. "I know there's not much to go on, but…"

"You just want to give her peace of mind."

Jane nodded again. "I don't expect anything from you; this was more of a courtesy call to let you know we were here. I don't want to step on anyone's toes."

"Well, I appreciate the gesture," he said.

"I wouldn't expect anything less if the roles were reversed." Jane glanced at the board.

Catching the look, Julia explained, "We're trying to determine how a man was shot."

William stood by her side. "We've determined the distance, though the evidence doesn't quite fit."

Maura gestured to the glass bottle on the table. "Is that the bullet?"

"Yes," Julia replied. ".44 caliber."

"The Winchester Centre Fire," Maura said, bending to get a better look.

William dipped his head. "I'm impressed, Doctor. We're assuming a rifle due to the distance."

Based on the information on the board, Jane guessed, "261 yards?"

"Yes."

"For that distance, only the Winchester 1873 uses the Centre Fire," she said. Smiling at the mention of the gun, she added, "The rifle that won the west."

"That's an awfully old gun," George noted. "Where would someone get a 26 year old rifle?"

William agreed. "Good question, George. But first, we need to determine how it happened before we can proceed with the who."

With her hands on her hips, Jane peered at the board. Stepping forward, she asked, "May I?"

Intrigued, he replied, "Of course."

Permission granted, she proceeded to erase the entire board, much to William's horror and Julia's amusement.

"I…" he stammered.

Oblivious to his reaction, Jane took a piece of chalk and redrew his diagram. "Don't confuse things with too much information. How did you figure out the distance was 261 yards?"

"We did considerable experiments behind the station with a pig," William said. Jane and Maura looked back blankly. "I've found it's the best replacement for a human being in that situation."

"It's already dead," George assured them.

"You shoot from marked distances until it matches the condition of the bullet found in the victim," Maura said. When both William and Julia nodded, Maura smiled her admiration. "Brilliant."

"Thank you," William said, returning the smile.

"Also a good piece of shooting at that distance," Jane complimented.

"Ah, I'd like to take credit for it," William said, "but that was a young man from our foot patrol squad."

"The problem is," Julia went on, "the angle in which the bullet was found in the body doesn't match the area where we think the gun was fired. The trajectory is at an elevated degree, but the crime scene is farm land. There isn't anything there that offers the elevation required."

"Perhaps the killer brought a small ladder," George said.

William sighed. "George…"

"Or a wooden box."

"George…"

"Could the killer have jumped into the air just as he fired?"

"George!"

Jane took pity on both the detective and the constable. "Did you figure out the angle of the bullet?" she asked Julia.

"Yes. Approximately 40 degrees."

Jane winked. "You two are thinking like straight shooters." She pointed her finger like a gun at William's chest before angling a line from the top of the board to an 'X' where the victim would have been. "261 yards at a 40 degree angle puts the shooter 300 yards from the victim."

William looked off to the side. "The minute the bullet leaves the gun, it begins to drop due to gravity. He had to correct for the elevation," he said, tapping the air. "That's a 39 yard difference, which is 117 feet. There was a barn. George, send some constables back to the farm. I want that barn re-examined from top to bottom, paying particular attention to the loft."

"Yes, sir."

When the constable didn't move, William raised an eyebrow. "George?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry. It was very nice to meet you, ladies."

His reluctance to go was obvious to everyone. "It was very nice to meet you, Constable Crabtree," Maura said. "I hope we'll see each other again."

"I hope that as well, Dr. Isles."

"George!"

"Yes, sir!"

"My apologies," William said once the constable finally left. "He doesn't get out much. And my thanks." He gestured to the board. "Your help has been unexpected but invaluable."

"I know from experience this is only a piece to the bigger puzzle," Jane said. "But I'm glad I was able to help. Be careful with this one; it takes a good gunman to know the kind of adjustments he needed to make."

"Will you be coming back to the station, Sheriff?" Julia asked.

"Not unless we turn up something on Virginia that will need the police," Jane assumed. "Fingers crossed we won't need to."

"Oh, that's a shame." Julia heard the words and quickly said, "Not that I wish ill on the girl, of course. I would have liked to have offered you ladies a tea."

"How about later this evening?" Maura asked. Catching Jane's look, she said, "What? We don't know the city and I would love to talk with another doctor. I'm sure you and Detective Murdoch have police stories to share."

"Me?" He looked at Julia and understood what Maura was implying. "Oh. We're not… what I mean is…"

"We would love to," Julia finished. "If I may ask, what field of medicine do you practice, Dr. Isles?"

"Pathology."

Julia's face lit up. "As do I. Wonderful!"

Jane wrinkled her nose. "We're not going to talk about brains and intestines over dinner, are we?"

Maura squeezed Jane's arm. "Don't be a baby."

The exchange amused Julia. "Where are you staying?"

"The Windsor House Hotel," Maura replied.

"Splendid choice," the doctor praised. "Shall we come by, say around 5:30?"

Maura nodded. "We look forward to it."

"Are we done here?" Jane asked Maura with feigned impatience. "Mrs. Murphy will be expecting some news today."

"If I may be so bold, Sheriff, I suspect you don't want to keep Mrs. Murphy waiting," William said.

"It's almost like you know her." Jane held out her hand. "It was good to meet you both."

"We'll see you at 5:30," Julia said. "Good luck in your search."

Alone again, William took in a deep breath. "That was interesting."

"I'd say that was quite extraordinary."

"Yes, the fact we've been standing here for the better part of the day, wracking our brains to come up with the solution, only to have a stranger from Wyoming solve it in less than a minute-"

"I meant the pants, William."

"Oh. I…" He willed his gaze to stay level with hers, but his eyes betrayed him as they flicked down to the floor and back up again.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "You've seen me in pants before."

"Well yes, but I didn't realize it was you at the time. You were in disguise. Quite convincingly, I might add."

"It was quite exhilarating," she admitted.

He glanced to the spot where Jane had been standing, then back to Julia. "Would you really consider wearing trousers?

"Why not? They certainly afford a freedom that conventional women's wear doesn't allow." She laughed at his reaction. "Oh, Detective. We're nearing the turn of the century. In 20 years time, we will look back on this and wonder what the fuss was all about."

"You are a daring woman, Dr. Ogden. And I shall hold you to your prediction."

That his vow held so much hope despite their situation caused Julia's eyes to fall to her hands where her wedding ring felt like an albatross. Summoning her resolve, she inhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders.

"I suppose I should get back to my own work," she said with a faint smile. "I'll see you shortly after 5?"

The reminder of the invitation caused him to make a face. "Julia, I'm not really certain…" Her expression hardened and she raised an eyebrow. "that I'll be ready? Perhaps 15 after?"

She nodded her approval. "Don't be late. The Windsor is 10 minutes away. Good afternoon, Detective."

"Good afternoon, Doctor." He watched her leave and wondered how many times she would do that before there was nothing left of him to take with her.

…..

A/N: Let me introduce you to the slowest burn in history, William Murdoch and Julia Ogden. It's not that it took them ages to get together; they got together, then separated, then got together, then separated, then she got engaged AND married, then spoiler, spoiler, spoiler, they finally get married. IN SEASON 8. For those who want an idea of what they look like, the CBC page is a good start.  .ca/murdochmysteries/characters/

-For clarity, this is season 5 of Murdoch Mysteries, which means Julia is married. New Year's Eve changes things, but this story is 6 months away from that event.

-The Windsor House Hotel is a nod to MM fans who know the significance of the hotel.


	4. Chapter 4

The city bustled around them as they made their way down Wilton Avenue.

"They were very nice," Maura remarked, smiling at vendors along the way.

"They're Canadian," Jane said. "I've heard it's some kind of law."

Maura laughed. "Still, it'll be nice to have dinner with them." She bumped into Jane's shoulder. "If nothing else, I bet the food is better than Paris."

"I like this country already."

"Sheriff! Doctor!"

They turned at the shout, only to see George Crabtree jogging behind them.

"Constable Crabtree," Maura said.

"I thought you'd be upending haystacks."

George shook his head at Jane. "We've got several other constables doing the job."

"Let me guess," Jane ventured. "The detective's given you that job more times than you can count?"

He took off his hat and smoothed down his hair. "Truth be told, yes. In fact, one time, he had Higgins and me - he's another constable - literally pull apart a haystack to find a bullet."

"Not a needle?" Maura joked.

He appreciated the humour. "No, but pretty darn close."

"Sounds like an interesting case," Maura said.

"Oh, yes! You see, a man was shot during a performance in Buffalo Bill's Wild West show. There were plenty of suspects who had the shooting ability to commit the murder. In fact, at one point, we thought it might be Annie Oakley."

The name caught Jane's attention. "Annie was here in Toronto?"

The use of the Christian name surprised George. "You know her?"

"Know her?" Maura repeated. "Jane beat her in a shooting contest."

George's eyes widened in admiration, and Jane held up a hand. "It was only pistols. I wouldn't have had a chance with a rifle."

"She was exceptionally good," he admitted. "Still, to beat Annie Oakley!" He looked down at her gun. "Is that the one?"

Recognizing the unspoken request in his eyes, she carefully unholstered the weapon and handed it to him.

"My goodness," he said. With care, he turned it over in his hands. "Incredible craftsmanship. Thank you."

She took it back and re-holstered it. "You don't carry a gun."

"No. We have access to weapons, of course, but as Detective Murdoch likes to say, we rely on our wits and deduction." The words reached his ears. "Not that you're not also witty and… deductive?" His brow furrowed at the word. "I saw what you did in Detective Murdoch's office. He and Dr. Ogden had been working on that board all morning. But I shouldn't have expected less from someone who bested Annie Oakley. So where are you ladies off to? I assume it has something to do with the young girl you're looking for?"

"Virginia Blakemore," Jane said. "She was staying at a boarding house on Maitland Street."

"Ah, well you'll want to be taking a right on Jarvis, then up 4 streets. Should be on the left. I'll walk with you, if that's all right."

"You sure you can spare the time, Constable?" Maura asked.

"I would think as an officer of the law, it would be my duty to escort two ladies unfamiliar with the city to their destination. As a gentleman, it would be my honour. And please, call me 'George'."

…..

Though the owner recognized Virginia from her photo, she wasn't able to give any further help.

"I can tell you I haven't seen her in almost 2 weeks," the woman said. "I can let you into her room if you like."

The offer surprised Jane. "Two weeks missing and you've still kept her room? I would've thought with the fair in town, you'd have rented it out."

"Her mother paid until the end of the month. I run a respectable business here, Miss."

George touched his hat. "No offense intended, Mrs. O'Shea."

The woman nodded, then left them alone in the empty room.

"You Canadians are a touchy lot," Jane remarked.

The constable grinned. "We have a tendency to be desperate for people to like us."

"Well I like you, George," Maura said.

He looked away bashfully. "Yes, well…"

Jane shook her head. "Focus, you two. Is there anything here that might tell us what happened to Virginia?"

They took a moment to look around, lifting up bed sheets and peering into drawers. The search seemed all for naught until George discovered a book under the mattress. "Sheriff Rizzoli?"

Jane took the book and turned it over. "Looks like a diary." She began flipping through the pages. "Last entry was 9 days ago. Two days before her mother reported her missing.

Maura peered over her shoulder. "Do the entries give any idea where she was going or who she might be with?"

"Doesn't look like it, but we'll take it back to the hotel and have a better look."

"Jane," she said, pointing to the middle of the diary. "A page was torn out after her last entry."

"Oh!" George said. "May I?"

Jane handed over the book and both women watched as he dug into his pocket for a pencil. Pressing the paper flat, he softly began shading the page that would have followed the one that was removed.

"Graphite shavings," Maura said. "Aren't you clever?"

His cheeks blazed red. "Well, I have to admit, I've seen Detective Murdoch do it with surprisingly effective results." To cover any further embarrassment, he quickly handed the book back to Jane.

"Looks like… 'IS MORSELEY?"

George rubbed his chin before throwing his hand into the air. "Of course. 15 Morseley. That's a street." A flash of something crossed his face.

"What is it?" Jane asked.

"That's the Murder House." The women gasped and he quickly backpedalled. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean, it is what I mean, but not the way you think I mean." He took a deep breath. "Let me start again. It's a famous house in Toronto for macabre reasons. Ten years ago, an entire family was killed in the house. Mother, father, 6 children. It was horrible. I didn't have to work the case, thank goodness. Though in hindsight, if Detective Murdoch had been investigating, I dare say the killer would have been caught."

"No one was arrested?" Maura asked incredulously.

"The father's father was the primary suspect if I recall, but was never charged. Went a bit mad afterward, poor man."

"Only if he didn't do it."

He tipped his head at Jane's comment. "Yes."

Maura looked down at the paper. "What does any of that have to do with Virginia Blakemore?"

"Oh, they've turned it into a tourist attraction," George replied. "It's quite well done, as far as I've been told. People come screaming out of the place, claiming to have seen the ghosts of the family, that sort of thing."

"You've never been, George?" Maura asked.

"Me? Oh, no. I couldn't even finish 'The Telltale Heart'." He glanced between both women. "Why? Are you thinking of going?"

Jane held up the book. "Might be one of the last places she went. I'd like to find out why."

"Indeed. Well, I suppose I could always track down the current owner, or whoever is in charge of the attraction. I'm afraid I won't be able to do it today, but certainly tomorrow. In the meantime, perhaps I could interest you ladies into accompanying me to the house this evening? You could see what the fuss is all about?"

"And you as well," Maura said.

"Oh, I won't be seeing anything, Dr. Isles." He covered his eyes with his hands, much to their amusement.

She slapped his arm. "We'd be happy to go."

"On one condition," Jane said. With the young constable's full attention, she continued, "Sheriff Rizzoli was my father. I'm Jane. That's Maura."

Realizing what she was asking of him, he stuttered, "Oh. I… are you quite certain?"

"You asked us to call you 'George'."

"Yes, but that's quite different."

A few pieces fell into place. "You've never called Detective Murdoch 'William', have you?"

"Oh my goodness, no," he immediately replied. "It wouldn't seem… I don't know… right?"

"How long have you known him?"

"Well past 10 years."

"But he calls you 'George'."

"Yes, but it's a matter of propriety, you see. He, for all intents and purposes, is my superior, though I suppose Inspector Brackenreid, whom you haven't met, is both our superior."

Jane playfully asked, "What's the Inspector's first name?"

"'Thomas'." The word spilled out of his mouth as if he had just learned it.

"And Dr. Ogden?"

"'Julia'." He took a deep breath. "I must confess, I feel almost… liberated."

Jane smiled at his sincerity. "So who are we?"

He puffed out his chest and declared. "You are Jane. And you are Dr.- Maura."

"I guess that's a start."

A church bell interrupted their mirth. "I really should be going. I'm quite certain the detective is expecting me. May I ask where you're going next?"

"Virginia accepted a summer placement at a hospital. The Victoria Hospital for Sick Children."

"Ah, on College and Elizabeth." He saw their confusion and began again. "My apologies. Retrace our steps for 3 blocks until you come across College. It's only 2 blocks down."

Jane nodded. "Probably why she chose this boarding house."

"Most likely," he agreed. "Shall I stop by your hotel, or?"

"We're having dinner with Dr. Ogden and Detective Murdoch," Maura answered. "There's a lovely restaurant in the hotel. Would that be easiest for you?"

"Yes, I think so. Where are you staying?"

"The Windsor House Hotel."

George's eyebrows lifted. "Oh. Very good. That's quite nice." He touched his hat. "I suppose I will see you around 7? There will be a line to get into the house, but I've been told it's better to wait until dark to get the most out of it. And by most, I assume they mean 'most terrifying'."

Jane laughed. "I like you, George. We'll see you at 7."

He touched his hat one last time. "Good day, ladies." When Jane raised an eyebrow, he coughed. "Of course, I meant, good day, Jane and Maura." He smiled sheepishly before exiting in haste.

…..

A/N:

-When speaking of Annie Oakley, George is referencing an episode in season 1, and in return, Maura then references an event from 'Possum'.

-The Murder House came about after reading about H. and his "Murder Castle". Check it out!

-They really do not like to call each other by their 1st names on MM! I have never- in 10 seasons- heard George call William by his 1st name. I liked the idea of Jane and Maura changing that.


	5. Chapter 5

The visit to the hospital didn't glean anything beyond verifying the length of Virginia's absence. Twelve days had passed since her last appearance, though the idea that she disappeared seemed to have surprised her supervisor.

"She was always very prompt," he said. "Very dedicated." When Jane wondered why he hadn't been more concerned over the girl's absence, he shrugged. "Her dedication didn't discount the fact that she was still a young woman. Who knows what they get up to?"

The cavalier way he revealed his misogyny made Maura step between them, having foreseen Jane's reaction before it happened. He accepted Maura's thanks, oblivious to Jane's quiet boil. Maura took Jane's arm and steered her down the hall.

"Asshole," Jane whispered under her breath.

Now at the hotel, they reviewed what they had found out and pondered over their next step.

"There's a telegram service downstairs," Jane said. "I should send something to Mrs. Murphy, even if it's just to say we made it. The rest of the town will want to know." Maura smiled at the sly reference to the woman's ability to spread news. "Then I'm going to have a nap."

"Sounds wonderful," Maura agreed. "I think I'll join you after my shower."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Shower?"

"Yes, didn't you see it? It's a canopy shower brought in from England."

"Ooooh, England!" Jane echoed, adopting an accent.

"Hmph. See if I leave you any hot water."

Jane caught her as she sashayed by. With an arm around Maura's waist, she pulled her close. "Maybe I'd better take that shower with you, water thief."

"I thought you were tired?"

"Exhausted. All the more reason to shower with you. If I have to wait until you're done, I'll be sleeping."

Maura narrowed her eyes. "While your explanation makes sense, I'm somehow mildly offended."

Jane pressed her smile to Maura's lips. "No!" Deftly avoiding a pinch, she said, "I'll send that telegram. Don't start without me."

Maura began to unbutton her blouse. "No?"

In the moment their eyes were locked, 3 fasteners had come undone. Blinking first, Jane could only point and shake her head.

"And you call me scandalous," she chastised.

"You'd better hurry," Maura replied, ignoring the admonishment. "I'm not wearing a corset."

Jane was out the door so fast she didn't hear the laughter that trailed after her.

…..

The shower lasted longer than expected and so did the nap. Fortunately, Maura had requested a call from the front desk, and she reached the phone before Jane could knock it off the bedside table.

"Thank you," she told the caller. To Jane, she whispered, "It's 5 o'clock."

A mumble escaped from the pillow. "Five more minutes."

As was Jane's nature, 5 minutes stretched to 15, until Maura shook the bed. "We're going to be late."

"They're Canadian. They'll forgive us."

"Jane…"

"Okay, okay." Swinging her legs to the floor, she gave her head a few seconds to catch up. She pressed her palms to her eyes then looked around. Gesturing to the chair with her chin, she said, "Look at you setting out my best clothes." The task made her pause. "Should I wear a dress?" She wrinkled her nose. Though she was adverse to the idea, she understood the idea of conformity.

Maura wouldn't hear of it. "You wear whatever you're comfortable in. Besides, you're too tall for my dresses. I'm not sure the good people of Toronto are ready for you to show that much leg."

Jane hummed at the logic. "I do like those pants."

"As do I," Maura murmured. Realizing Jane had caught her tracing the inseam, she blushed. "What? The dark material accentuates your legs. I refuse to feel guilty."

Jane chuckled. "That's not what your face says."

Her mouth twitched, betraying her feigned stoicism. "You have 10 minutes to get ready."

…..

"Are you almost ready, Doctor?"

Julia stacked the folders on her desk and lifted the phonograph's needle. "I heard Constable Crabtree found a scrap of fabric that matched a shirt from your suspect?"

William offered a small grin. "Truthfully, George did no such thing. It was Constable Higgins. George spent the afternoon escorting our two visitors around Toronto."

"Sheriff Rizzoli and Dr. Isles?"

"Yes. Or, according to the constable, 'Jane' and 'Maura'."

Julia's eyebrows rose in amusement. "Really? That's rather bold of him."

"Apparently, they insisted."

She gleaned a clue from his otherwise impassive expression. "Did he call you 'William'?"

"Indeed."

Her laughter painted the stark white room and he couldn't help but revel in it.

"Oh, how I wish I'd been there!"

"It was as if someone dragged a needle across a record," he said. "Of course, it didn't help that the inspector was in the room at the time."

"What did he say?"

"'Try it, Crabtree. I dare you'," he intoned in a more than passable imitation of his boss. "And that was the end of that."

"Poor George."

William acknowledged the sympathy with a slight nod of his head. "Perhaps I can convince him to try 'Julia' next."

She warmed at his use of her Christian name, even in jest. "Perhaps you should. William."

Not for the first time did their eyes meet across the chasm created by their circumstances. Covering a needless cough, he offered his elbow.

"Shall we, Doctor?"

…..

"Perhaps I should consider moving to Wyoming," William mused as they walked into the lobby of the opulent hotel. "It appears the wage is much better."

She squeezed his arm with hers. "If I were to venture a guess, I'd suggest you go into medicine rather than law."

"Dr. Isles?"

Julia nodded. "She has a rather distinctive European air about her that comes with money." William turned his head sharply and raised an eyebrow. "What?" she laughed. "Are you shocked that I'm gossiping?"

"No," he replied. "I'm simply shocked that you were able to ascertain all this in the 10 minutes we shared with them."

She squeezed his arm again. "You're not the only one who can detect, Detective."

The elevator door opened, preventing him from asking more. Jane and Maura stepped out and quickly saw the couple.

"If I might be so bold to say, Sheriff, I envy you," Julia said.

Jane looked down at her legs. "That's really a big deal around here, isn't it?"

"It's certainly out of the norm."

"There must be a place in this city to buy pants for women?"

Julia grinned. "Well, there _is_ a rather daring shop on Jarvis street."

William's cheeks turned crimson. "Perhaps we should consider dinner first."

Maura took some sympathy on the man. "Would you mind if we had dinner here? We told George he could meet us afterward."

Murdoch tilted his head. "George?"

"One of the last places we think Virginia Blakemore went was a house on Morseley Street," Jane explained. "George offered to take us there."

"What's the connection between the house and the missing girl?" William asked.

"It's something called 'The Murder House'," Maura said. "We found the address written in her diary. Well, actually, the page had been torn out but the constable very cleverly raised the imprint with a pencil."

Julia pressed into William. "Careful. Your student may very well become the master."

"Indeed."

"Before we go any further, let's find a table, shall we?" Julia suggested.

They were escorted into the restaurant and given a table at the window. The waiter offered menus and rattled off the wine list with a flourish, before allowing them a moment to decide.

"This is lovely," Maura remarked.

"You would be hard pressed to do better," Julia agreed. "It's one of the finest establishments in all of Toronto. I come here often."

This caught William's attention. "Do you?"

The admission of her wealth made Julia lower her head. "Just with some of the medical board. Perhaps with some friends visiting from out of town."

It was hard to miss the underlying class rift between the doctor and the detective. Jane knew all too well about differences in class. With a lightness in her voice, she said, "Looks like they don't pay Canadian lawmen any better than America."

Her comment seemed to dispel his discomfort. "No, I suppose not. Tell me, Sheriff, how did you come to be in your position?"

"'Jane'," she corrected. When the reply was a slightly pained expression from William and a suppressed grin from Julia, she said, "Is it like the pants? Calling someone by their first name?"

The grin escaped. "It is quite… uncommon to address one by their Christian name. The practice is generally reserved for loved ones or friends."

Jane looked at Maura. "Am I not friendly?"

"You're very friendly."

"And believe me," she told Julia and William, "this one is very friendly. The whole damn town will vouch for that." She singled out Julia with a smile. "You seem friendly. You," she turned to William, "seem…" she chose her words carefully, "like you could be friendly, underneath that 3-piece suit and smoldering intelligence thing you've got going on."

William's stare could not stop Julia's uproarious laughter.

"So please," Jane went on. "I'm Jane. This is Maura."

Julia approved. "Very well. Please call me 'Julia'." When there was no comment from Murdoch, Julia spoke for him. "You can call him 'William', though I can't promise there will be any reciprocation on his part."

"I _am_ sitting right here," William reminded her.

The waiter's arrival was a welcome break in the conversation, at least from William's point of view, and once orders were taken, Jane took pity on him and steered things back to neutral ground.

"To answer your question, my father was sheriff. I sort of fell into the job after he died."

"I'm sorry to hear that," William said. "About your father, of course."

Jane accepted the sentiment with a nod. "It was a long time ago. I've been sheriff for almost 20 years."

"What's Wyoming like?" Julia asked. "I've never been farther south than Buffalo."

Looking off to the side, Jane shrugged. "Flat. Dry. Hot."

Maura scoffed. "Not true. It's a beautiful landscape. And there's nothing like standing out in a thunderstorm on a warm summer evening."

"You're not from there?" William ventured.

Maura shook her head. "No. I'm from Boston, though I spent the majority of my childhood in Paris."

William pretended not to see the knowing look from Julia.

"And how did you end up together?" Julia asked.

"Pop used to tell me I didn't have to go looking for trouble, trouble found me." Jane held out her hands in a gesture of innocence.

"Very funny," Maura scowled. "She was lucky we had a mutual friend who invited me to take over his practice."

Jane couldn't help but be grateful at the fate that brought them together. "She's right. I'm very lucky."

Maura basked in the confession before asking Julia, "How about you two?"

"I'm lucky as well." The words were out before William had a chance to censor them. Quickly, he added, "Dr. Ogden has been invaluable to my work."

The brief sadness that flickered across Julia's face didn't go unnoticed by Jane. Rather than press the point, she said, "A female doctor. That's quite the accomplishment."

The compliment was met with a thankful smile. "It has been quite a journey."

"She was the only female in her class," William said, allowing a touch of pride to his voice.

Public praise from the detective was rare, and it brought heat to Julia's face. "Yes, well…," she stammered. "I have no doubt you know what that's like, Dr. Isles."

"'Maura'," she reminded her. "Yes. I went to Harvard but had to wait two years before they allowed a woman."

"Shameful," Julia said disdainfully.

"And yet here you all are," William remarked. He held up his water. "I'm honoured to be surrounded by such strong women."

"And not even a little afraid," Julia quipped as four glasses touched.

…..

The dinner was met with praise all around. Plates cleared, they sat back with their drinks.

Savouring his tea, William asked, "Did you find anything else out today?"

"Not really," Jane said. "The visit to the hospital only confirmed how long she's been missing."

"And The Murder House?" Julia asked.

"No idea. George is going to try and locate the owner so that we can speak with them during off-hours. In the meantime, George has invited us to enjoy an evening of terror."

Though Julia laughed at the comment, William could only shake his head. "I don't understand the compulsion to be terrified."

"It's a simple reaction of the sympathetic nervous system to release epinephrine and dopamine," Maura explained. "The first triggers our fear. The second acts as a kind of chemical reward. There's a kind of enjoyment to being frightened."

"I've heard of a study in Japan that is attempting to isolate epinephrine to administer for such things as anaphylaxis and cardiac arrest," Julia said.

William looked over at Jane. "What do you make of all this?"

The coffee cup paused at her lips. "Medicine?" She took a sip of the hot black coffee. "As I've been told in the past, I'm the brawn of this duo." She said it with a smile, removing any self-consciousness from the answer.

He turned his head slightly, as if to study her from a different angle. "I find that hard to believe, Sheriff. Someone without intellect wouldn't have solved that problem this morning."

She shrugged, the self-consciousness returning. "I read a little. But I've never read about this Murder House," she said, attempting to deflect the spotlight.

Murdoch recognized the tactic and let it pass. "It's the objectification of a horrible tragedy."

"You've done it now," Julia murmured lightly.

"George told us eight people were murdered," Maura said. "Is that right?"

William nodded. "Yes." He cast a side glance at Julia. "Go on. Tell them the rest."

She had the good grace to look somewhat guilty. "I'm sorry. I know it's a terrible tragedy, but you have to admit, the circumstances of both the murders and the events afterward are compelling?"

"I suppose in a gossip journalism way, yes."

"Really, William? You're not the least bit intellectually curious about who the killer might have been or why he did it?"

"George said something about the grandfather being the primary suspect," Jane offered.

"Yes. Henry Craftsman. He was a machirologist."

Jane's brow furrowed. "Knives?" When Maura grinned, Jane explained, "Daniel collects knives." She looked at Julia and William. "The town butcher."

"Seems a fitting marriage of profession and interest," Julia said. "The key to the case was the fact that one of Mr. Padgett's prized knives went missing."

"Let me guess," Jane ventured. "Only to be found in one of the victims."

"Close. Underneath the parents' bed, if I'm not mistaken." She turned to William for a confirmation, which he gave with a nod.

"So why wasn't he charged?" Maura asked.

"He was," Murdoch replied, "but the only evidence was the knife."

"There was also an odd piece of conflicting evidence," Julia recalled.

William lightly snapped his fingers. "Yes. The bloody footprint." Realizing the other two women had no idea what he meant, he explained, "The police found a single footprint that tracked blood away from the crime scene."

"And it didn't match the grandfather," Jane guessed.

"It was too small," Julia said. "Almost that of a child."

Both Jane and Maura let the information digest before Jane asked, "Guess I know why it's called The Murder House now."

Julia's face lit up. "It gets better. What?" she asked William. "From a psychiatric perspective, this case is fascinating." She ignored his narrowed gaze and continued. "The grandfather was never found guilty, but his life was never the same. He became something of a public pariah, as you can imagine."

"He never left Toronto?" Maura asked incredulously.

"No. I suppose he thought leaving would be admitting guilt. But after years of whispers and finger-pointing, he began to lose control of his mental capacities. Truth be told, he went a bit mad."

William arched an eyebrow. "A bit mad?" He looked at the women and sighed, compelled to engage in the narrative. "He began building onto the house. A wing here, an additional storey there, until it finally became such an architectural monstrosity that the city planners had to step in with a lawsuit."

Jane tried to imagine the house. "What are we talking about here?"

"The house was a simple design: two-storey, 3 bedrooms, a bathroom, and whatnot," William said. "A total of 7 rooms."

"Why am I getting the feeling this is the big twist to the story?" Jane asked.

"Fifty-five rooms!" Julia exclaimed.

"Pardon?"

"That we know of," William reminded her. "He hired different architects and builders every time he added something to the home so that no one knows for certain how many there are. Some suspect there are rooms yet to be discovered."

Julia warmed up to the subject. "There are stairs that lead to nothing. Doors that open to walls. It's all quite fascinating, really."

"Okay," Jane said, "this all makes sense - crazy sense, but why?"

"Why did he go to all that trouble?" Julia asked. "It's difficult to say. I've only just begun to study psychiatry, but a theory shared by many in the field is that he was trying to prevent the killer from returning to the crime scene." Seeing Jane's expression, Julia laughed. "I know. It doesn't make sense to you or me, but there's the idea that he felt, on some level, that he was responsible for the deaths of his son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren; if only he could have protected them, they'd still be alive."

"Do you think in his mind, they are still alive?" Maura asked.

"Unfortunately, we'll never know," William said. "Mr. Padgett died two weeks ago."

Julia nodded. "Yes. I'm currently attempting to get legal ownership of his brain."

Maura beamed. "That would be an incredible study."

Jane looked at William and wagged a finger between Julia and Maura. "What did I tell you? We're talking about brains. I knew it."

…..

A/N: As mentioned in the previous chapter, the Murder House is based on serial killer H. ' "Murder Castle"


	6. Chapter 6

They steered the conversation to more neutral topics, and despite the cultural differences, found they had much in common. A good-natured debate about coffee was well underway when George waved in the restaurant's doorway. William caught the signal and gestured him to the table.

"Constable Crabtree," Julia said. "It's been ages since I've seen you in something other than your uniform."

He looked down at his grey suit. "Yes, well, I thought it might be more suitable to escort our guests in an unofficial capacity."

She put him at ease with a smile. "You look quite the gentleman, George."

"Thank you, Dr. Ogden."

"Oh, not 'Julia'?" William queried.

"William," she chastised.

Murdoch took the reprimand in stride. "I should leave you to it, George." He stood and reached for his billfold. "It was a lovely dinner and a pleasure to share it with you."

Maura held up her hand. "It all gets added to the hotel bill. It's not necessary." He was uncertain what to do, accustomed to following etiquette. She immediately caught the discomfort and said, "Perhaps you could leave the gratuity?"

"Ah, yes. My pleasure." He offered a smile. "Thank you."

"You're not coming with us, sir?" George asked. "It'd be quite the adventure. I hear the more people you have, the more the experience is heightened."

"I'm sure the experience will be heightened enough without me, George."

He turned to Julia. "Dr. Ogden? What say you? Will you join us? I would think a woman who studies the mind would be interested in seeing all of us lose ours."

Julia laughed. "Well, if you wouldn't consider it intruding?"

George beamed. "No, not at all. I mean, as long as it's all right with you ladies."

Jane and Maura agreed as one. "We'd love to have you," Maura replied.

"That's settled, then." Julia stood, brushing the non-existent wrinkles from her dress. "Are you certain you won't come, William?"

He fought the lure of her deep blue eyes but lost the battle. "I suppose it would be rather rude of me to say no to our guests." He bent his arm to her in invitation. "Shall we?"

…..

Though it was evening, the summer sun was just beginning to dip, painting everything in a warm sepia. William and Julia casually walked behind while George regaled Jane and Maura with stories that seemed to entertain them both. Julia took advantage of William's chivalry to lean into his arm, revelling in the comforting familiarity it gave her. She was pulled out of her reverie by Maura's laugh. Shaking her head, she sighed at the sight.

"Poor George."

"Poor George?" William repeated. He turned his head slightly, and in his haste to avoid her eyes, found his gaze on her mouth. A corner turned upward, and he wasn't sure if it was in reaction to his look or his question. Summoning a modicum of strength, he staunchly continued, "He's in the company of two women who are hanging off his every word." He glanced at the trio. "Well, at least one."

William and Julia watched as Maura playfully slapped George's arm while Jane bemusedly looked on.

"She's a lovely woman and she'd be hard-pressed to do better than Constable Crabtree," Julia admitted. "But she has." William furrowed his brow. "Done better than George, or at least as well."

The furrow remained. "I don't…"

"William." She leaned closer, using the guise of a secret to press into his arm. "They're sapphists."

His head spun so fast that his hat nearly came off. The sight made Julia throw her head back and laugh. Fortunately, the group ahead were too occupied in their own conversation to notice.

Now it was William's turn to use a whisper as a reason to lean in. "How do you know?"

"Do you not see it?" she asked. "See how the sheriff rarely goes a minute without touching Dr. Isles?" As if on cue, Jane's hand discreetly reached behind Maura's back to touch her waist before dropping once more. "It was quite noticeable at dinner," she went on. "The glances they give one another aren't those of simple colleagues or even friends. They're the looks of two people who genuinely love one another." She shifted her gaze to see his reply, and caught a softness in his face before it was quickly replaced with neutrality.

"Do you think George knows?" he asked.

Julia sighed, both at fleeting feelings and the constable's predicament. "No, I suspect he doesn't. But he knows they won't be here for the long term, so I don't think we have to worry about how it might affect him. Which is why I think Dr. Isles has been so engaging with him."

Willam was glad to direct the tone into a lighter arena. "You don't find Constable Crabtree engaging, Dr Ogden?"

She grinned, also content to return to neutral ground. "Yes, I suppose I worded that poorly. He's quite engaging."

They fell into a comfortable silence, entertained by George's re-enactment of some dramatic event or another.

…..

"... then I thought, 'What would Detective Murdoch do?'" George recalled. "But then I realized I didn't have the time nor quite frankly the wherewithal to invent some fantastical contraption on the spot."

"So what did you do?" Maura asked.

"I threw the cat at him." The image had the two women roaring with laughter. "I felt badly - for the animal, of course - but it gave me enough time to descend the stairs and apprehend the suspect."

"I've always said, why carry a gun when you can throw a cat?" Jane quipped.

"Necessity _is_ the mother of invention," he replied.

"Constable, are you telling the cat story?"

George turned and smiled at William. "Sir, you must admit, it's an entertaining tale."

"Speaking of which, have you told our guests about your book?" Julia asked.

He covered his blush with a shrug. "Oh, I don't think-"

"You wrote a book?"

Maura's question brought the blush to full bloom.

"Well, I… yes. It's nothing, really."

Maura was having none of it. "I'd like to be the judge of that. How much for a copy?"

"That's very kind of you," he said, "but that's not necessary."

"George," Jane cautioned. "Let me give you a piece of advice. You'll live longer if you give her what she wants. Trust me."

If her words weren't warning enough, Maura's expectant stare did the trick. Loosening his collar with his index finger, he stammered, "What I meant, that is to say, your money isn't necessary. I would gladly give you a copy for free."

The correction seemed to appease her. "Thank you, George, but I insist on paying."

He opened his mouth to protest, but saw Jane's expression. "Yes, of course, Dr. Isles."

If the address hadn't been given to them, the carnival-like atmosphere would have told them they had arrived. Booths began to line the street almost a block from the curiosity, selling everything from hand-painted souvenir posters to desserts in macabre shapes. An organ grinder cranked out a song with sinister undertones, though it was hard to say whether that was the original intent of the composer or a poor interpretation by the operator. William looked around in dismay.

"Perhaps a week's work in the morgue would change people's minds," he said. "The revelry on display is obscene."

Julia took some sympathy on the morally upright detective. "Beyond the profit, perhaps it's very much like the penny dreadful- people simply need an escape from their daily lives."

"Penny dreadfuls are fiction," he said. "This…" he gestured at the house. The groups remained silent and he touched his hat. "My apologies. I don't mean to be a…" He paused to find the right word.

"'Wet blanket'?" George helpfully provided. "'Damper'?" He snapped his fingers. "'Malcontent'!"

"George." Julia's voice was quiet but firm.

Realizing his error, he said, "Sorry, sir."

William sighed. "No, you're quite right, George. I shall endeavour to enjoy the evening. After all, I'm in good company." He guided them to the ticket booth and turned to Maura. "This time, I must insist," he said as he reached into his pocket for change.

…..

"Welcome, one and all!" The crowd recoiled as one from the booming voice. A man in a black suit stood solemnly in the foyer. "The Murder House welcomes you," he emphasized with a sneer. "Does anyone know from whence the name came?"

Julia held William's arm down.

A voice shouted from the back. "Someone was murdered?"

"Not just some _one_. Eight - _Eight_ \- innocent people were brutally slaughtered in this house; a place that should have been their home became their final resting place. You see, their bodies were never found.

William's mouth dropped. "That is a blatant lie," he whispered fiercely.

"William," Julia soothed. "Just one night?"

The man went on, unaware of the detective's ire. "Here's what we know: 8 innocent souls met their tragic fate in one of the rooms in this house. There are 7 floors! And 55 rooms! That we know of..." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial rumble. "I will guide you part of the way, but I encourage you to wander off and explore on your own. There are bells in each room for the faint-hearted who need assistance." He grinned with relish. "As for the rest of you, this is the one hundred and thirty third group I've taken through this house and we've yet to find the murder room. Perhaps you will solve the mystery at last and put these poor souls to rest."

Jane leaned towards William. "That sounds like a challenge."

Pressing his lips firmly together, he agreed with a nod. "Indeed."

"Stay out of trouble, you two," Maura warned.

Their expressions were of pure innocence.

…..

"Oh!" Julia let out a startled breath then laughed. "I'll give them credit," she said, stepping around the corpse that had popped out from the wall. "Their attention to detail is quite commendable."

Another alarmed squeak came from behind her, and George sheepishly covered his mouth. "Sorry."

Maura stepped closer to examine the prop. "They've even detailed the stratified squamous epithelium," she noted, her finger hovering over the lips.

Julia came in for a better look. "Amazing." Keenly, her gaze examined the rest of the face. "They can never get the eyes quite right, though."

"No," Maura agreed. "Something about the veins."

"Indeed," Jane said dryly. "Maybe you'll figure out what it is if we ever get to see the other 47 rooms."

Maura took the hint. "All right, all right, we're moving."

The next 10 rooms were much of the same, with their random assortment of prop scares and a bombastic narrative by their guide. It was as Julia had said: 3 rooms had doors that led to nowhere, another had stairs that ended halfway to the ceiling, and yet another had mirrors on all sides that disoriented those who entered.

"I wonder how much of this was the original designer's plans and how much was added to increase the spectacle," George mused. "Beyond the fake corpses and veiled apparitions, of course. Can't imagine those came with the original house."

Jane chuckled. "I'm trying to imagine the selling ad: _Early 19th century dwelling, contains 55 rooms - that we know of. Lovely entrance hall. Corpses and ghosts included in the price_."

Even William smiled. "So this doesn't bother you, Sheriff?"

"The spectacle or the theological?"

"Both, I suppose."

She gave the question some thought. "My only complaint might be how soon they've put this together. I can't imagine being connected to the family in any way and having to see it turn into this."

"You don't find it unseemly to profit from tragedy?" he asked without judgement.

When she shrugged, Julia said, "We do it all the time." He raised his eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. "There are scores of examples in literature. 'Anna Karenina' was based on the suicide of someone Leo Tolstoy knew."

Maura nodded. "Dostoyevsky wrote 'Crime & Punishment' after the French murderer Pierre Francois Lacenaire."

"And sir," George added, "even Mr. Hardy's latest book, 'Jude the Obscure' is rumoured to be partially based on a good friend who tragically committed suicide by slitting his wrists."

William's eyes fell on Jane. "I'm more of an Oscar Wilde girl myself," she said.

He nodded his approval. "And the theological?"

She shrugged again. "I lean more towards 'lapsed Catholic'," she admitted.

"Oh, I wouldn't be saying that too loudly around these parts," George said. "Lapsed or otherwise."

Jane gleaned the unspoken in his words. "Protestant?" When he nodded, she looked at William. "Not you, though." Before he could ask how she knew, she grinned. "You flinched when I said 'lapsed' but not 'Catholic'."

Julia tried not to smile. "So you don't prescribe to the notion of souls and ghosts?"

Holding out her hands, Jane admitted, "I don't know. But what I do know is, they're not going to be hanging around here, jumping out of walls, trying to scare people to death. At least that's not what I'd be doing. So no, the theological doesn't bother me, either. Sometimes a fake haunted house is just a fake haunted house."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sheriff- I mean, Jane," George said, "what _would_ you be doing if you were a wandering spirit?"

Jane put her arm around his shoulder and walked them away from the group. "Let me tell you..."

…..

Based on George's facial expressions, some of her scenarios must have been slightly more risque than he expected.

"I'm just saying, if you have the ability to walk through walls and show up anywhere, why waste the afterlife moaning around an old house?"

"Despite not having been a party to the majority of your conversation, why do I feel the sudden need to go to confession?" William asked.

"Despite my own personal thoughts on religion, I may join you this once, sir," George said.

The group was stopped outside a room where their guide reappeared. Drawing the crowd closer, he addressed them.

"The house hasn't claimed any further victims, has it?" he asked, scanning the assembled. "Good. We lost three people in the last visit. Never to be found." There were murmurs and gasps. "We suspect this is the very room in which they went missing. It's said that the youngest daughter, poor 7 year old Agnes, escaped the rampage that killed her family. Bleeding but still alive, she dragged herself to this room, only to meet her final fate. Her spirit lures the unsuspecting inside, where she metes out her vengeance.

"I thought none of the bodies were found?" Jane asked aloud. She paid no attention to the strangers that turned to stare, though she caught the expressions of her companions. Smirking at William's open mouth, she said to the guide, "If we know she escaped to this room, there must have been a body, right?"

The guide glared at her. Puffing out his chest, he retorted, "The killer allegedly dragged her back to the room where the rest of the family lay. Now," he quickly added before she could speak again, "let me welcome you to Agnes Padgett's final resting place." He held out his arm with a flourish.

"Technically, not her _final_ resting place," Jane remarked.

"Thank you!" William said in gratitude.

Julia groaned. "Not you, too, Sheriff."

Jane laughed and looked towards the room. "Don't let Agnes spirit you away."

The pun drew an admiring smile from George. "Well done," he commended. "You see, sir, she's using 'spirit' both as-"

"Yes, George," William said.

A shrill shriek came from the room.

"Looks like another well placed parlour trick," Maura guessed.

It was only when several people rushed out in alarm that the group suspected something else.

"George," William said, "stay here and make sure everyone's all right." Without another word, he strode into the room. It didn't take him long to discover the source of the fright. "Dr. Ogden."

She came to stand at his side, and both Jane and Maura joined her. "Oh," she said and immediately went to the body that lay slumped in the chair. With her fingers against the throat, she looked at William and shook her head with no small measure of surprise. "She's dead."

William crossed himself and Jane did the same, more out of respect for the detective than a personal conviction. "I'm guessing that's not Agnes," she said.

"No," Julia replied, "if for no other reason than this body is still warm." She looked from William to Jane to Maura and back to William.

Maura moved towards her. "May I?" she asked.

"Of course."

Kneeling beside Julia, Maura scanned the body for any outward clues. "No ligature marks that I can see." She gently lifted the eye lids. "No petechial hemorrhaging."

"No blood," Julia added. "No bruising. No signs of struggle." Her eyes met Maura's, and when no further assessment came, she turned her attention to William. "Let's hope the body reveals more once we get her to the morgue."

"Indeed," he said.

"Sir, it seems-" George came to a sudden stop in the doorway. "It seems you've already found the reason for the commotion."

"Yes, George," the detective replied. "Did anyone see anything?"

George shook his head. "Nothing more than what you've already discovered, sir. Several people came into the room, but unaware of what the people ahead of them saw, created a sort of bottleneck in the doorway, which caused a panic. I mean, I've no doubt the body also caused a panic. But it folded in on itself and-"

"Any witnesses?" William interrupted.

"No. By all accounts, the body was already there when people entered the room."

"What the blazes is going on here?" Their guide tried to barrel his way inside, only to have Jane block his way. "I have a business to run. Time is money."

"If I were you," she said, "I'd be more worried about the dead body."

He craned around her shoulders. "What? Let me through!"

"Sir!" George protested, grabbing the man's arm. "I must insist!"

He yanked his arm free, elbowing George in the process.

"Hey!" Jane reached for the man's hand and pinched between his thumb and index finger.

"Ow! Unhand me! You have no right!" he protested as he bent to one knee.

William blinked once, setting aside his appreciation of her action to make room for his professionalism. Casually but firmly, he said, "But I do." Moving aside his jacket, he showed the badge pinned to his vest. "Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary."

Despite the situation, Jane couldn't help but say, "That's a mouthful."

He pretended not to hear, focusing his attention on the guide who was still agonizing over Jane's simple yet effective technique. "This is now a crime scene. There will be no further visitors to this room, or this house for that matter. George, I'll need you to contact the station. Bring in some additional constables to help you as well as the morgue attendants. Don't go far, Mr…?" He looked at the man.

"You can't shut down my business!"

William casually glanced at Jane who then pinched the pressure point even harder.

"Mr. Bingham!" he blurted out, in the hopes it would relieve the pain. "Joseph Bingham!"

Satisfied with the information, Jane released his hand.

"Very good," William said. "Well, Mr. Bingham, we'll have to ask you a few questions once we've cleared the crime scene. I must insist that you remain here until we're finished."

He held his hand close to his body and grimaced. "Do I have much choice?"

Jane offered her best smile. "No."

…..

A/N: William is a devout Catholic, which was something of an anomaly in late 19th century Toronto.


	7. Chapter 7

George stepped out of the room, taking the owner with him, and the four remained to contemplate the next course of action.

Jane glanced around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. "I'm not sure what I should be doing," she admitted. "I'm not used to not being in charge."

William dipped his head in understanding. "While you have no legal jurisdiction here, I can't say I wouldn't mind another set of eyes to assist me. However, I would ask that you don't touch anything."

"Of course," she replied.

They all slowly turned to examine the room. Upon closer examination, it appeared to be a small drawing room, but like the rest of the house, seemed 'off' in its appearance. A sofa and ottoman sat in its expected positions, and a writing table claimed its spot in the far corner. A bookcase discreetly projected an aura of intelligence, while the small piano boasted of a musical dim lights did just enough to illuminate the middle, but barely reached the dark corners. Whether intended or not, it added to the sinking feeling the room emanated. It was Julia who spotted the anomaly.

"The window is bricked. It doesn't look out to anything."

"She's right," Maura said, walking to it. The heavy curtains were parted just enough for the discovery to be made. Brushing aside the covering, she added, "There's a glass pane but it leads to nothing."

"Not entirely surprising considering the nature of the house," William noted.

Jane nodded. "Still, creepy as all he-" She didn't have to see William's shock nor Julia's bemused surprise to know enough to catch herself. "Heck. I was going to say 'heck'.." Bringing things back to the matter at hand, she said, "Bricked up window means there was only one way in and one way out."

"Very good," William said, also happy to be changing the subject. "Julia, do we know if the victim was killed here or moved?"

"Hard to say without further examination. Cause of death will determine where."

William pondered the options. "Based on initial observation, the lack of blood or outward wounds would seem to indicate the body was moved here. And no one saw anything?"

"You'll have to find out when the house is open to the public," Jane said. "Then see who has access to it when it's closed. I can't believe anyone could have moved the body while everyone was here."

"Agreed," he said.

He walked along the room, examining the walls and the bookcase for any sign of a hidden door. Maura did the same, walking in the opposite direction. Jane and Julia inspected the floors and furniture looking for anything that might have been left behind by the killer or victim. Their searches offered nothing and ended at the piano against the wall.

"Cottage piano," Jane admired. When the trio looked to her to continue, she said, "82 notes. I used to play it in church."

Julia scrutinized the music sheet that rested on top. "There's no name listed. Perhaps it's 'Funeral March'?" she speculated, only half joking.

William leaned over her shoulder, pretending not to notice their proximity. With his right hand reaching around her waist, he depressed one key, then another, then another, until the notes triggered a meaning. "Moonlight Sonata," he said.

Jane stepped closer and placed her left hand on the keyboard. Counting in William by bobbing her head, they started as one, the somber notes wafting through the room. Suddenly, the room began to move. Startled by the unexpected, the four froze and watched in awe as the floor and wall swivelled on an unseen device, until they were in another room.

"It's like a secret door," Julia whispered.

"Triggered by the piano," William said.

In the darkness, Jane asked, "Should I strike a match?"

"I'm not sure we have much choice, Sheriff," he replied.

A bright light sparked and Jane held up the match, giving everyone a chance to look around. Maura gasped.

"It's the same room."

Julia's voice was filled with matching wonder. "The exact same room, William."

Even in the faint illumination offered by the match, they could see the sofa and ottoman, the writing table and the bookcase all in the same places. Even the bricked window was duplicated. A lamp in the corner gave Jane an idea.

"Let me light that."

"No electricity in this room," William noted when the lamp offered more light. "I wonder why."

"Why anything?" Julia asked. "Why go to the trouble to duplicate an entire room? And are we to assume the other side of this wall is an exact replica of this piano?"

Maura could only shake her head in amazement. Glancing down at the floor, she said, "If you look closely enough, you can see the semi-circle in the wood." She traced it in the air. "Only this portion of the room turns. The mind behind this is incredible."

"Or crazy," Jane said. "Who creates a secret room of a regular room?"

"More importantly," Julia said, "how do we get back? Let's not forget there's still a body on the other side."

"The obvious answer is to do the thing that got us here." Jane raised her eyebrows at William who nodded. With each resting a hand on the keys, they began playing the piece once more. Nearly a minute passed before Jane shook her head. "We didn't get that far the first time. I'm almost positive you hit the G sharp and the floor turned."

William nodded. "Agreed. Certainly we didn't get much farther than 30 or 35 seconds." He glanced around the room. "So what is the trigger on this side?"

No sooner were the words were out of his mouth than he and Maura turned to each other. "The bookcase!" they said simultaneously.

Leaving them to examine their findings, Jane rested her hands on her hips and made a face.

"What is it?" Julia asked.

She struggled to find the words. "I don't know. There's something not right here. Something's different."

Julia moved closer and tried to see things from Jane's perspective. "Has something been added? Different paintings, perhaps? Is something missing?"

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the answer. Finding nothing, she closed her eyes and lowered her head, hoping to draw on her memory of the room on the other side of the wall. Just as she opened her eyes to try again, she saw it. Offering a self-deprecating chuckle at the obvious discovery, she tapped her foot.

"It's the rug," she grinned.

Julia looked down. "There isn't one."

"But there is one in the other room."

They both crouched down while William and Maura continued searching the books. Jane frowned and began tracing a groove in the floor. Julia began doing the same, moving in the opposite direction. It only took a few seconds to realize what they had discovered.

"It's a trap door," Julia said.

Jane nodded her agreement and was about to comment when her eyes widened in alarm. Turning sharply to William and Maura, she blurted out, "Stop!"

As if in slow motion, her words reached their ears a split-second too late. One of the books _was_ the latch to a secret door, but not the one between the rooms; it opened the door underneath Jane and Julia. In the time it took her to shout her warning, the wooden doors dropped and the two women disappeared from sight.

…..

"Julia!"

Maura grabbed his arm before he could get any closer to the opening in the floor.

"Detective, be careful!"

He resisted pulling his arm away, realizing she was only looking out for his well-being. "Yes, of course."

Composing himself, he carefully knelt at the edge of the trap door. Shouting into the black void, he called out Julia's name again. Maura joined him at his side.

"Jane!"

Several attempts were made until they sat back on their heels. William took off his hat and wiped his brow.

"They're fine," Maura assured him. "Jane's incredibly resilient and in the little time I've gotten to know Dr. Ogden, I'd bet she is, too."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. Tamping down his fear, he knew he was being irrational. "You're right. I shouldn't doubt either of them. We should be focussing on getting out of here and getting them back." Standing, he put his hat back on and scanned the room for an answer. "It's clearly not the books, and we can't get back the way we came in." He scowled at the piano.

"Sir?"

The voice came from the other side of the wall. Beaming, William said, "You're an angel, George!"

…..

The only thing that had greeted him when he returned to the room was the victim. Not unaccustomed to the random investigations of Detective Murdoch, George wasn't entirely surprised to not find him here. However, the absence of the three women seemed out of place. Uncertain of what to do, he thought the best thing would be to wait for the morgue attendants, hesitant as he was to leave the body alone. He was examining the bookcase when he heard it, something that sounded surprisingly like the detective's voice. George's eyes darted about the room, half-wondering if this wasn't some kind of trick. His ears craned to hear more, and was rewarded by another voice, this time, Dr. Isles. It seemed to be coming from… behind the piano.

Puzzled, he stepped in front of it and looked around to make sure no one was watching before he called out, "Sir?"

…..

It happened so fast they barely had time to sit upright. They had landed in an unceremonious heap at the bottom of the trap door, but before they could gather their bearings, the steep angle of the tunnel sent them down the dark cylinder. Jane stuck out her feet and hands in an effort to try and halt their descent which came at a breakneck speed. In the dark, Julia anticipated Jane's actions and did the same which prevented her from barrelling into the sheriff from behind. They weren't sure how long they had travelled before their efforts were finally rewarded. They came to a stop just in time, as Jane's boots hit the end of the tunnel. In the dark, they couldn't tell what came next.

"I'm afraid I recognize that smell," Julia said, her voice lightly reverberating off the walls.

"Let me light a match." The paraffin odour followed the flame. Startled by what it revealed, Jane dropped the match, leaving them in darkness once again. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Let me try that again, this time without the squeaking noise."

Julia couldn't help but laugh softly over Jane's shoulder, but the levity was quickly dispelled. The end of the tunnel appeared to lead to a large drop into a room, where they were greeted by a decomposing body that had been caught on the spikes that lined the floor. Jane covered her nose with one arm and held out the match with the other.

"What the hell?"

"It's some kind of killing room," Julia whispered. "Had we not stopped when we did, we'd very likely been down there with her."

"Do you think she died there or was she dead before she hit the floor?"

"Too difficult to say from here. We'll have to bring her out."

"We'll have to get ourselves out first."

"How you propose we do that?"

The match flickered out, leaving them in the dark again. There was nothing but the sound of their breathing for several minutes until Jane finally spoke.

"Only thing we can do is go back up. The drop was pretty steep but we can figure that out when we get there."

"You know," Julia said, "in the midst of our travel, I may have seen an adjoining tunnel. Or to be more precise, felt one."

Jane replayed the trip behind her eyes. Images flashed across her brain until they zeroed in on Julia's information. "You're right. About 30 feet back. On the right hand side."

"How far do you think we travelled?"

"The drop had to be 6 or 7 feet." Though it was a statement, Jane left it open for Julia's response.

"I'd say that's a reasonable guess if my aches are anything to go by."

"Aches?" Jane repeated, twisting her head around. "You landed on _me_."

Julia dismissed the light accusation with a laugh. "A body falling on a body isn't much of a buffer, Sheriff, regardless of the height. Or the body."

"Uh-huh. Says the body landing on the body. Anyway, after that, I'd say we slid at least..." She struggled to visualize the distance. "50 feet? 60 feet?"

Julia understood the lack of clarity. "It did take me several seconds to get my bearings settled," she said. "But yes, certainly 50 feet at least."

"Well, we're not going to get any closer if we don't start moving. C'mon, turn around. You get to lead."

It was a tight fit, but there was just enough room to twist around to their hands and knees. In their new positions, they were able to start their cautious journey back up the tunnel.

"Don't make any sudden stops," Jane said, "or we'll find ourselves in an embarrassing situation that we'll have to keep secret forever."

It took a moment for Julia to decipher Jane's meaning, but when the image finally developed in her mind, she agreed with a light-hearted, "Quite."

The return trip proved more arduous than they had anticipated, and minutes passed without a word from either woman. Julia's dress only made the endeavour more difficult.

"What I wouldn't do to be in your pants right now, Sheriff."

Without missing a beat, Jane said, "With that kind of talk, you should call me 'Jane'."

The meaning came to Julia much quicker this time, and she burst out laughing. "Despite the events of the last hour, I must say, it's been wonderful to meet you."

"Oh, so this isn't a usual evening for you and your detective?"

Though the question was obviously facetious, Julia replied, "No." She refrained from correcting Jane on the rest.

Sensing the change in the air, Jane directed the conversation to their situation. "I think I see a void just ahead."

Julia looked away from the spot in the hopes the rhodopsin in her eyes would make the object clearer. "Yes, I believe you're right. Only a few more feet."

It didn't take long to reach their destination, but once they arrived, they were uncertain what to do next.

"Guess it depends on whether this comes out to a death trap, huh?" Jane said, voicing their silent worry.

"There's only one way to find out," Julia replied firmly. "May I have a match?" Jane wordlessly handed her the book. The white phosphorus quickly came to life. Craning her neck into the unknown, it only took Julia seconds before pulling back. "It leads directly into a room," she revealed.

"Ceiling or floor?" Jane asked.

"No more than a foot from the floor."

"Well that's one good thing, I guess. Anything else?"

"Only what the match could give me," Julia confessed. "But I don't think we have many options."

"No," Jane agreed. "It's this or try to get up that 6 foot drop."

"This might give us something to work with."

Jane nodded. "What choice do we have? After you, Doctor."

…..

"Sir! What in the world?"

"George!" William shouted back. "We're on the other side of the wall."

Knowing there would be a better time to ask how the detective ended up in his predicament, George instead asked, "Is everyone all right?"

"I'll explain everything once we return, but in order to do that, I need your help."

"Of course, sir. Anything."

"Do you see the piano?"

"I'm standing directly in front of it."

"I don't suppose you can read music, can you, George?"

"Oh, I dabble in it somewhat. My aunt Begonia tried with all her might to get me to play the instrument, but it just never seemed to stay with me. Two long laborious summers stuck inside with Mr. Taylor, a nefarious taskmaster who would rap my knuckles with-"

"George!"

"Sorry, sir! It was quite a circuitous way of telling you I might indeed be able to read some music, wasn't it?"

"We need you to play the song on the paper you see, George," Maura said.

"Dr. Isles! I'm so happy to hear your voice. Yes, give me a moment." He scanned the sheet, then sighed in relief. "Thank goodness, this appears to be somewhat decipherable. How much should I play, sir?"

"You'll know when to stop, George," William assured him.

Frowning at the cryptic reply, he hovered his fingers over the black and white keys until he was satisfied the start was correct. His playing wasn't nearly as fluid as William and Jane's; nevertheless, he was able to stumble through the notes enough to set the tumblers turning again. Startled by the movement, George froze, his fingers still holding down the keys.

Back in the original room, William was keen to return to action, finding Julia his immediate priority. After making sure Maura was okay, he turned to find his constable... only to discover he wasn't there. Sighing, William spoke to the wall.

"George?"

"Yes, sir?"

Rather than reply, William played the song again, and quickly stepped back as the floor began to move. George's expression was one of wonder and awe.

"Sir! A secret room!"

"Yes, we've discovered the same, George."

The wry comment went unnoticed by the constable. "Imagine the possibilities! Well, I suppose the first thing one should wonder is the craftsmanship and the wherewithal to imagine such a thing in the first place. Do you think it's one of the 55 rooms they've discovered, or do you think you're the first one to find it?" His voice raised in excitement. "Imagine, sir! You may have found a secret room in the Murder Hou-" He stopped abruptly. "Where are Dr. Ogden and the sheriff?"

Rather than berate him for his ramble, William simply said, "In the house. Where exactly, we don't know."

…..


	8. Chapter 8

They fell into the room, a bit more awkwardly than they would have liked, but given the improvement from the last room, they were willing to endure a small measure of embarrassment. Julia struck a match and both held their breaths, half-expecting the worst. They needn't have worried. This room, like the one they'd just avoided, was bereft of furnishings or windows. To their relief, it also lacked a dead body. They had just catalogued their surroundings when the flame flickered out.

"Would it have killed the architect to put in a light bulb?" Jane asked. "How many matches do we have left?"

Julia counted by touch. "Four."

"Okay. Light another one. I thought I saw stairs."

The white-yellow light supported Jane's claim. On the other side of the 10'x10' room, a staircase creeped up the wall. Julia slowly walked towards it, lifting the match higher.

"It doesn't appear to lead to anything," she said.

Jane's eyes followed the light. "It goes right to the ceiling."

"Do you think there's something at the top?"

Taking in a deep breath, she replied, "Only one way to find out, I guess." She looked at Julia, then noticed the doctor's hand for the first time. "Hey, you're bleeding."

Julia glanced at her hand. "I must have caught it on something on the way down. In the midst of everything, I didn't notice."

Jane reached into her pocket. Offering the handkerchief, she said, "Better clean that up. Wouldn't want the detective thinking something happened to his girl."

The match mercifully burned out before Jane could see Julia's reaction.

"I'm not…What I mean to say is…" The sigh was long and full of regret. "May I ask you something?"

Jane didn't comment on the apparent change in subject. "Sure."

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but how long have you and Dr. Isles been together?"

In the dark, Jane's chuckle warmed the room. "That obvious, huh?"

"To some, perhaps. I wouldn't be worried."

"I'm not," she stated flatly. "Oh, I get it: the looks, the judgement, the whispers. But if there's anything I've learned, it's that life's too short. In your job, haven't you found the same thing?" When no reply came, Jane answered the question. "Five years, four months and 17 days. Don't tell her I know - I pretend I'm bad with dates." Now it was Julia's turn to chuckle. "But how could I not know? The day she came into my life was the best thing that ever happened to me. Can't imagine life without her." She gave Julia a moment to prepare for the inevitable question. "So you and Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?" There was a small laugh in reply, but nothing more. Even in the dark, Jane could tell she was struggling to come up with an answer.

"Maybe I phrased that wrong," Jane said. "You're wearing a ring that's obviously not his. Your husband must be amazing."

"He's a fine man."

"Oh, a 'fine man'," she repeated. Her intent wasn't to hurt Julia, so she curbed her sarcasm. "But he's not William, is he?"

Julia's immediate reply surprised her more than Jane. "No."

"So how did you get here?"

"It's complicated." The words were so well worn that they slipped off Julia's tongue with ease.

They were quiet for a moment, each in their own thoughts in this makeshift confessional. Sighing, Jane was the first to speak again.

"You know, I'd marry her if I could." The words were simple but stark in their meaning. "And if you knew the old me, you'd know how crazy that sounds. But I'd give anything to have one chance to shout from the rooftops what she means to me. I guess I just don't understand why anyone who has that chance doesn't take it."

"It's not that simple," Julia replied, more sharply than she had intended.

The tone rolled off Jane's back. "Did I mention I'm in love with a woman? Could be worse, I guess: we could both be men. I'm assuming that's a hanging offense up here, too?"

"Yes."

"So there's the good news. I can't be hanged for it; I just can't acknowledge it."

"I can't acknowledge it, either." The words were out of Julia's mouth before she could stop them.

Jane reached out to put a comforting hand on Julia's arm. "But you acknowledge it every time you look at him."

"Perhaps we should see if the stairs lead to anything. I'm not sure how we'll get out if we don't do it ourselves." She touched Jane's hand, a gesture meant both as an acceptance of her words and a silent plea.

Understanding the request, Jane said, "Good idea. They're probably sciencing up some lever fulcrum thing to get us out that will take days to build."

"'The angle gives us a 1.27 margin of error'," Julia said, doing a fair imitation of Murdoch.

"Exactly," Jane praised. "Let's try to get up as high as we can before lighting another match. We've got to ration them in case this doesn't work."

Neither wanted to speculate what would happen if it didn't.

…..

"... but only if we assume the distance is a straight line."

William looked at his notepad and conceded Maura's point. "We can't calculate distance without speed, and we can't calculate speed without distance."

Maura gave the dilemma some thought. "What if we estimate distance based on where we are now and how far we are from the ground floor?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes! Then if we apply Pythagoras's Theorem-"

"We could hear you sciencing two floors away."

George, William and Maura turned as one to the voice in the doorway. Uncaring or unaware of how it looked, Maura rushed into Jane's embrace.

"You scared us half to death," she accused.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Which was exactly our plan, right, Julia?"

The doctor smiled and was startled by William's touch. Decorum and social graces prevented him from welcoming her the way Maura had done with Jane. Instead, he took her hand in his, hoping to convey all he felt.

"William?"

He held on until he realized he was taking liberties with the moment.

"Your hand," he said, his stoicism returning, though he didn't relinquish his hold.

"Oh," she said, reminded of why they were there in the first place. "Yes. Somewhere in all of this, I seem to have injured it." A worry line formed between his brows. "It's nothing," she assured him. "Some minor cuts and abrasions."

He took any injury to her as a personal affront, but finding no reason to maintain his concern - particularly in the presence of a group - he reluctantly let her hand go.

"Of course."

"I must confess," George said, "I'm very confused. I thought you had fallen through some contraption in the floor. In the other room." He furrowed his brow and pointed between the rooms as he tried to work out the chronology.

"The trap door was more like a trap slide," Jane replied. "After the drop, we slid about…." She looked at Julia for confirmation.

"We estimated the distance from the end of the tunnel to the second room was 30 feet. That was at least half way."

William looked between Jane and Julia. "Now I'm confused. Second room?"

Julia took an excited breath. "It's quite fascinating, really. When we fell, the sheriff had the good sense to minimize our speed by putting out her hands and feet."

"Hence your injury," he extrapolated.

"Yes. Fortunately, we stopped just in time. The tunnel opened into a room that had some kind of spiked floor." When she saw him blink, she smiled. "I know it sounds like something Mr. Poe would write, but I can attest to its veracity."

Jane nodded. "I saw it, too. The tunnel came out at the top of the room." She used her hands to diagram her description. "The floor was here and there were rows of spikes covering the whole thing."

"There was also a body."

"What?" Maura and William asked simultaneously.

"A body," Julia repeated. She could tell William had a hundred questions. "A woman, to be precise. Face down. Hard to determine more than that without further examination.

While he let the information work its way into his thoughts, Maura asked, "Just how did you get out?"

Julia's eyes lit up. "We crawled back towards another access. That was the 2nd room we mentioned."

George vocalized the image that was forming in his mind. "So you fell and slid-" he mouthed some numbers, "approximately 60 feet. Found a room filled with spikes and a dead body. Crawled back up the slide 30 feet to another room that was filled with some other horrendous concoction, I suppose."

Jane shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint you. There was nothing."

He pulled back. "Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing but a staircase that lead directly to the ceiling," Julia answered.

George grinned. "Pardon me for saying, but this is incredible. I must remember to incorporate this into my book!"

"The staircase?" William prompted Julia.

"Oh, yes. It was the only thing in the room. Quite odd. But it appeared to be our only chance to get out, wherever 'out' might lead."

"And it lead you to…?"

"The room on the 5th floor, George," Jane told him. "The one with the corpse. The fake one."

He shuddered. "I'm not too proud to say I hated that room."

"Based on your estimates, this 'murder room' as you called it must be on the first floor," William said.

"If each room has been built to standard," George reminded him.

"Yes." He looked around the room, though it was obvious he was drawing on his memory of the rest of the house he had seen. "I believe they were all 9 feet."

Jane, too, did a quick recall. "Sounds right."

"Do you think this victim," George gestured to the body on the floor, "was meant to face the same fate?"

Jane frowned. "You'd be taking one hell of a chance, wouldn't you? Killing someone right before the tour comes in? Why not do the deed when you have less chance of being caught?"

"Perhaps he wants to be caught," Julia offered.

"Or he gets a visceral thrill out of potentially getting caught,"Maura said.

Julia nodded at the theory. "Yes. Perhaps the motive lies in what happens after the murder, not before it."

William's brows came together. "Be that as it may, I believe we're getting ahead of ourselves. We'll need to get the body to the morgue, then extract the 2nd body. Then we'll have to identify each one." He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Not exactly what you had in mind for this evening, eh?" He smiled weakly at Jane and Maura. "George, perhaps you could escort our guests back to their hotel?"

"That's not necessary," Jane said, hold up a hand. "You're going to have a busy night. We'll manage." When it looked like the constable was going to protest, she levelled her gaze at him. "You don't believe me?"

"Well, I…," he stammered bashfully.

"I told you the Annie Oakley story, didn't I?"

His mouth twitched with amusement. "Say no more."

"I'm sorry it's turned out this way," Julia said. "I hope we can find time to try again?"

Maura smiled. "We'd like that very much."

Two morgue attendants emerged in the doorway, and the tone in the room switched from personal to professional with ease. Jane and Maura said their goodbyes, leaving Julia to delegate duties while George and William quietly discussed what to do next.

…..

"She knows, by the way."

Jane opened the conversation with her curious statement as they strolled towards the hotel.

Briefly closing her eyes, Maura enjoyed the evening air. "Who knows what?"

"Julia. Us."

Maura stopped in her tracks. "What?"

"Julia. Knows. About us."

Grinning at Jane's simple explanation, she shook her head. "When did you two have this revelation?"

"Oh, sometime between her wanting to be in my pants and telling me some crazy story about not being married to the detective."

"What?" Maura repeated, this time more incredulously. "They're not married?"

"I love the fact you went for them not being together, instead of her wanting to be in my pants."

Maura dismissed the idea with a light snort. "That was an obvious play on words. I saw a ring."

"She's married. Just not to him."

Maura's mouth dropped again and she made several attempts to reply. When she finally found her voice, the best she could muster was, "Wow."

"As the good detective might say, 'Indeed'."

They began walking again. "I wonder if her husband knows?"

"No meddling!" Jane warned. "I only shared that with you to let you know our secret is out."

"I don't meddle," Maura protested. Fooling no one, she carried on as if nothing had happened. "She was okay with us?"

Jane shrugged. "We didn't have time to braid each other's hair, but-" She avoided a pinch from Maura. "From the little I've seen, she seems like a pretty modern woman with some modern ideas."

"Being the only female in a male dominated profession does that to you," Maura acknowledged.

"You two have a lot in common," Jane said, leaning into Maura's shoulder. "Beautiful. Intelligent. Independent."

"She _didn't_ get into your pants, did she?"

"It was an obvious play on words," Jane deadpanned. The pinch found its mark. "Ow!"

"Anyway, I agree with your assessment."

"So modest."

"Though truth be told," she continued, ignoring Jane's retort, "I may have even more in common with Detective Murdoch. His mind is incredibly sharp."

"Again with the modesty."

"I will just keep pretending I can't hear you as I think about the number of interesting things I saw in his office. He looked to be doing something with UV light. I wonder what it was?"

Her lips touched Maura's ear. "I admit, it kinda turned me on hearing you two doing all your science talk."

"Technically, it was math." Jane's blank expression and raised eyebrow caught Maura's attention. "Oh." They shared a heated look. "The hotel's around the corner."

"Not a moment too soon."

…..


	9. Chapter 9

Standing at the top of the ramp that led to the morgue, William allowed himself the luxury of looking at Julia as she went about her business, unaware of his presence. It had taken longer than anticipated to remove the body from the end of the tunnel, and even longer to make sure all evidence was gathered properly. Despite only being in his late 30s, his bones felt older and it took everything in him not to simply return to his boarding home and collapse in a heap. If Julia's posture was anything to go by, she appeared to feel the same. She had followed the first body to the morgue and immediately went about the autopsy. He knew she was doing that for him, knew she wanted to have answers for him by the time he arrived with the 2nd victim. She was just pulling the sheet over the body when the attendants rolled in the next one.

"Thank you," she said, her soft voice wafting through the room. "Go get some rest. This will still be here in the morning."

She waited until they left before exhaling a sigh that tugged at his heart. He watched as she shifted slightly from side to side, giving some relief to overburdened feet. Tendrils escaped their pins and tickled her neck when she gently cracked it from one side to the next. Hands stretched to the ceiling and not for the first time did he wonder what it would be like to encircle her waist with his arms and pull her close.

"Oh, Julia," he whispered.

The phonograph that played quietly in the corner wasn't enough to cover his utterance. She spun around sharply and with a startled jump, gasped, "Oh!" Self-consciously, her hands lowered, but not before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?"

He composed himself with a small cough. Walking down the ramp with hat in hand, he said, "Long enough to recognize your choice in music."

She smiled at being caught out. "'Funeral March' seemed appropriate."

"If not a tad predictable," he gently teased.

"I couldn't find my copy of 'Moonlight Sonata'," she said. "Which, I might add, you never told me you could play. I had no idea you could play the piano, William."

Heat touched his cheeks. "I wouldn't go so far to say I can play. More, I know how to transfer the notes to the keys." Her smile added more heat.

She waited until he was finally at her side when she said, "I suppose you haven't come all this way to discuss my choice in music, have you?" Before he could reply, she went on, "I believe I found the cause of death for our first victim. Laudanum."

"Laudanum?"

"Yes. That in and of itself isn't much to go on. But here's something interesting." She retrieved an item from her desk before returning to his side. "This was found in her bag."

He took the bottle and read the label. "Paregoric." Her patient silence was quickly rewarded. "You found laudanum in the bottle."

"Very good, Detective."

Her smile was his own reward. "Someone switched the contents."

"It would appear so, yes. It's very common to mistake one for the other. The appearance and taste are virtually identical."

"It's the morphine that distinguishes the two."

"The amount, yes. Laudanum contains 25 times the amount of morphine as paregoric. Using paregoric's recommended dosage for laudanum would be fatal, as our victim can attest."

His lips pressed into a frown. "Time of death?"

"Based on the stage of rigor and taking into account how long it took us to get her here, I'd say between 5 and 6 o'clock."

His eyes that were clouding in thought came into sharp focus. "This evening? She was killed an hour before we found her?"

There must have been a measure of disbelief in his voice, because she said, "I can only tell you what the body tells me."

"Doctor, I would never doubt you." His eyes were as warm as his words. "It's only a surprise to think this young girl was dying while we were having dinner."

"Somewhere, someone is always dying, William."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." His claim about never doubting her rang in his ears and he offered a small smile. "Forgive me. You are indeed right."

When she returned the smile, a charge lit the space between them, a connection that neither distance nor difficulties could sever. As always, they shared things in looks they never could in words. Just as the emotional ground beneath them was about to give way, he found solid footing once more.

"We were meant to find her."

Julia blinked twice, the return to their professional pantomime a jarring one. "Yes. Or certainly, someone was. I'm about to start the post mortem on our 2nd victim. Perhaps there's a connection."

He remembered the picture of exhaustion she made when he first arrived. "Go home, Julia. This will still be here in the morning."

Hearing her words echoed back to her raised an eyebrow. "You were here longer than you'll admit."

His eyes flickered down to his hat, silently admitting his guilt. Her laughter brought his eyes up again and he found himself caught in hers. It was a game they often unwittingly played; a game of longing captured in their eyes where neither could deceive the other. Tonight, their shared exhaustion seemed to strip their feelings bare and they held their gaze until the tension was almost physically unbearable.

"Darcy will wonder where you are."

As intended, his words pricked a hole in the moment and it was gone. Her face took on sharp angles and her eyes lost their warmth.

"He's currently in Buffalo," she said. "He's still considered a member of the hospital board."

"I see."

The regret stretched between them until she turned away, her back effectively shutting a door between them.

"So I have no reason to not start the next autopsy."

He stepped behind her, sorry for his words, sorry for the sourness he brought between them. Their proximity was so close, he could feel the heat emanating from her, and he cursed himself for his weakness.

"Julia," he said, a half whisper, half admonishment, the former to her, the latter to his stubbornness. Her soft gasp caught his attention. "What is it?"

She moved slightly and the reveal was enough to bring him out of his self-pity.

"Do you recognize her?" she asked, knowing the answer.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Of course."

"Should we-?"

"Let them sleep. Waking them now won't change anything." He looked down and wondered how their American visitors would take the news.

…..

One of the first things Maura insisted upon in the early days of their relationship was a new bed, and while Jane had complained about the cost and questioned the need, even she would admit to enjoying the luxury of it. But this bed, she thought as she rolled on her back and stretched her arms out on either side, this bed is-

"Amazing," she groaned out loud.

Her hand reached blindly for what should have been on her right, and when the grasp found nothing, she opened her eyes. She blinked several times, uncertain of what she was seeing. Propping herself on her elbows, hair askew, she asked, "What are you doing?"

Maura turned at the voice that sounded like honey over gravel. "Unmaking the cot." Jane's raised eyebrows compelled her to continue, "Room service will be here shortly. It should look like one of us slept on it."

"Instead of both of us making like rabbits in the bed?"

"Jane!"

She flopped back onto the mattress. "Let them think what they want, Maura. You tip the guy well enough to keep his mouth shut."

"I am quite generous," she agreed.

"And I've got a gun, so…"

"Jane!" Maura repeated. Throwing the pillow at her, she said, "I know it's too much to ask you to be decent when he arrives, but can you at least be civil?"

"Did you order pancakes?"

"Yes."

"Deal."

On cue, a knock came to the door. Maura answered and stepped aside, allowing the cart into the room. The well-dressed attendant lifted two silver lids, and when he received Maura's approving nod and aforementioned generous gratuity, he turned to leave.

"Oh," he said, turning in the doorway. "My apologies, Dr. Isles." Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a folded paper. "This came for you this morning. We were instructed not to wake you."

"Thank you," she replied, taking the note and softly closing the door behind him. The sudden feel of hands curling around her waist made her smile. "I see. So pancakes will get you out of bed."

Jane shrugged, nuzzling under Maura's earlobe. "The person delivering pancakes might have something to do with it."

"Yes," she said, enjoying the loose intimacy. "He's quite handsome."

Slapping Maura's backside, Jane peered at the cart. "And real coffee, too. I'm never leaving." Maura's laugh vibrated under Jane's lips. "What's that?"

"A note that was left at the desk." Jane took it from her while she went about pouring the hot beverage. Seeing Jane's frown, Maura asked, "What is it?"

"It's from Julia. ' _Before you set out for the day, I would ask that you come by the morgue first. It's quite important. I'm afraid I have some bad news.'_ There's an address on the bottom." Jane took a deep breath and exhaled. "Well, that can only mean one thing."

"Virginia Blakemore."

"What else can it be?"

Maura hummed her agreement. They looked at the breakfast growing cold on the cart, but Julia's note had killed any appetite they may have had.

With another sigh, Jane said, "Let's get ready."

…..

The morgue's bright lights greeted them, as did a very tired looking doctor. There was something in the woman's demeanour that Maura recognized from her school days.

"You didn't go home last night," Maura said, not unkindly.

Julia's smile was small but welcoming. "I have a cot in the other room that allowed an hour or so. I'm fine."

"Doctors make the worst patients," Jane said.

"A sentiment I've shared with her more times than I'd like to count," William said, making his way down the ramp.

"Second only to police officers," Julia volleyed back, taking in his well-kept appearance that showed frays around the edges due to a lack of a good night's sleep.

"Touché," William and Jane replied in tandem.

They glanced at each other in disbelief before Jane turned back to Julia. "We got your note. Obviously. I get the feeling we're not going to like what you have to show us."

Julia shook her head. "I'm sorry." Walking to the covered body on the table, she waited for a nod from Jane before respectfully pulling back the sheet. Though Jane didn't know Virginia Blakemore personally, she knew the photo in her pocket would be a perfect match to the girl that lay lifeless under her gaze.

Maura touched Jane's arm. "It's her."

"Yeah."

William and Julia seemed to be waiting for more, and it only took Jane a moment to see what it was. She glanced up sharply at Julia.

"It's the body from the room."

"Jane?" Maura asked.

"The one at the end of the tunnel," she clarified. "I recognize the dress." Her brows met in confusion. "I don't… Virginia Blakemore was at the bottom of that tunnel?"

Discreetly covering the body, Julia nodded. "Yes."

When Jane turned her attention to William, he immediately recognized the question on her face. "We're working to discover the 'how'," he assured her.

"Cause of death?" Maura asked.

"Laudanum overdose," Julia replied.

"So she was dead before being thrown down the tunnel?" Jane asked.

Julia consoled her with a smile. "Yes, that's in line with my findings."

Jane sighed. "That's something, I guess."

"Under other circumstances, I wouldn't be inclined to share this information," William began, "but I feel you should know - in all likelihood, both murders are connected."

In light of Virginia Blakemore's discovery, the murder that began their night at the house was almost forgotten.

"Connected?" Jane repeated.

"Both were laudanum overdoses," Julia explained. "The first one in particular looks like an intentional deception; we found a paregoric bottle that showed traces of laudanum. I've yet to determine how it got into Virginia's system."

Jane tipped back her hat and rested her hands on her hips. "Okay. Well, we've got to telegram Ruth Murphy then find our way to Etobicoke to tell Virginia's mother."

"I'll have George go with you," William said. Jane waved her hand as if to refuse the offer, and he asked, "Do you know your way to Etobicoke?" Silence was his answer. "As I thought. I'll have George go with you."

"Thank you, Detective," Maura said.

"Of course." To Julia, he said, "If I could use your phone?"

She nodded and he retraced his steps up the ramp and turned into her open office.

"I'm sorry," she repeated to Jane and Maura.

"How long was she down there?" Jane asked.

"That might be too difficult to determine," she replied, "but I can tell you she had been dead for at least 6 days."

"Her mother reported her missing 7 days ago." Jane shook her head at what that meant. "She might have already been dead by then."

Julia conceded the timeline with a sad smile. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"He's on his way," William said, returning to the room.

"How long will it take us to get there?" Maura asked.

"The train should get you there by lunch," he replied. "Factoring in the time spent with Victoria Blakemore's mother, I believe there's a train coming back that will have you in Toronto by dinner. I wouldn't be opposed to you stopping by the station when you return," he said.

Jane recognized his attempt to keep them abreast of the case, and she nodded her thanks. "We'd appreciate it."

"What will you do in the meantime?" Maura asked.

He sighed at the litany of things needed to be done. "I'll have to review every interview from last night and hope someone saw something. In the likelihood that doesn't pan out, I'll have to retrace the steps of both girls until I find out what they had in common. What drew both of them to the killer, and more importantly, vice versa? While I'm doing that, I'll have other constables tracking down every building plan they can find of the house, and the builders and architects that go with them. Then find the schedule of everyone who came in and out of that house over the last 30 days. Then-"

At that point, George entered the room. "Good morning, Doctor," he said, touching his hat. "Detective. Ladies. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, George," Maura replied.

"I guess that's it, then," Jane sighed. "Let's stop at the hotel first; I need to get that telegram sent."

With nothing more to be said, goodbyes were shared and slowly everyone filed out of the morgue, leaving Julia alone to contemplate the silence once more.

…..


	10. Chapter 10

"You have a beautiful country, George," Maura said, looking out the window at the passing landscape.

"Why thank you," he replied with a grin. "I mean, it's not my country, of course, but I understand the sentiment. Your country must be amazing as well. The mountains and the lakes and such."

"You've never been?" she asked.

"No. Oh, I've been to Buffalo on occasion, but I don't imagine that compares to the vast landscape of the west."

Maura gave the compliment some thought. "It can be very beautiful at times, yes. You should visit sometime."

His eyes widened. "Oh, well… really? I dare say I'd be sorely tempted to take you up on the offer; if you're sincere, of course."

"Does she come across as someone who would lie to you, George?" Jane asked. She was slumped back in her seat, arms crossed, hat pulled down and eyes closed.

"N-no, not at all. I'm sorry if I made you think that, Dr. Isles. I mean, Maura."

She leaned across and briefly rested her hand on his arm. "We would love to have you."

He beamed at the invitation, and they were still talking about their respective countries when the train pulled into the station.

"You two should think about writing a travel book together," Jane said as she stood and stretched.

"That's brilliant," he replied. Latching onto the idea, he snapped his fingers. "We could call it a 'travelogue'. Like a 'monologue' but about places to visit."

"Sure." She shook her head at his imagination. "Anyway, I've got the address."

"Right!" He tapped his hat as if to remind himself of the nature of their visit. "I'll get a carriage."

Maura squeezed Jane's arm when the young constable was out of earshot. "He's adorable."

"He's sleeping on the porch with the dog if he visits." Her quip was given a slap on the shoulder in reply.

"I've hired a Hansom," he said, returning to the pair. "It will be a tight fit with three, but we'll get there in much better time." He stood to the side and held out his hand to lead the way. "After you, ladies."

…..

If the surroundings and camaraderie nearly made them forget the reason for their trip, the stricken look on Olive Blakemore's face was a stark reminder.

"Oh no," she wailed, and would have fallen to her knees had Jane not caught her.

Gently guiding her back into the house, Jane settled her on the couch and knelt at her knees. A silent look to George received a nod in return, and he exited the room to find the kitchen. Maura pulled a nearby chair closer and took the woman's hands in hers.

"I knew as soon as I saw you step out of the carriage," she choked out. "I knew it was bad news. My little girl!" She gratefully took Jane's handkerchief.

"Can you tell us the last time you spoke to Virginia?" Jane asked.

The mother shook her head in disbelief. "We spoke every day. It's the only reason we have a telephone. We had to save our money to afford the cost, but it was important that we didn't lose touch. I was worried about her being alone in a big city."

"Was she having a hard time living in Toronto?"

"No. She loved it. You have to understand, Sheriff, Etobicoke is lovely, but all the young people want to go somewhere bigger. Once she was accepted into the nursing school, I knew I had to let her go. I was so proud of her." A sob caught in her throat and a second wave of grief rushed over her.

George appeared with a cup of tea. "I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Blakemore. I took the liberty-"

She waved away his apology. "That was very kind of you..."

"Constable Crabtree, ma'am," he said, hearing her unspoken question. "I've from the Toronto Constabulary."

The cup rattled in the saucer as she took it from him. "Thank you." She focused on the dark drink before asking, "What happened?"

George and Jane shared a look, and he let Jane take the lead.

"We're following some leads now," she said, "but it appears to be an overdose of laudanum."

Olive looked as if she had been slapped. "Laudanum? Virginia? I don't believe it."

Maura squeezed her arm with warm reassurance. "We suspect it was given to her without her knowledge."

"I don't understand. Are you saying she was murdered?"

"That's what we're working to find out," Jane said. "I've met the detective on the case; he's very good at his job."

"You trust him?"

It was a testament to the ties that bind small communities that someone with the thinnest of connections to Beybeck would trust the assurance of a near stranger. Jane nodded, understanding the faith the woman was putting in her.

"I do."

"Detective William Murdoch," George said. "He's a fine man and has a very keen mind. You couldn't ask for someone better, Mrs. Blakemore. If I may take your number, I'll give you his. I know he would be more than happy to keep you abreast of things."

She rested the cup and saucer on the table, and dried her eyes again. "Thank you. To both of you. I know Ruth can be… difficult at times, and Beybeck is such a long way. You don't even know me, and yet, here you are."

Jane sat beside her. Without admitting she had never heard of the woman before Mrs. Murphy's request, she asked, "How did you end up in Canada?"

The woman smiled for the first time. "We were born in Jefferson City."

"Missouri?" Maura asked.

"Yes. Wyoming wasn't even a state then. We grew up and Ruth got married."

Jane nodded. "She's the oldest?"

"The middle, actually," Olive replied. "We had an older brother. Timothy. Consumption took him when Ruth was only 6. I was just a baby." Her eyes glazed with wistful nostalgia. "She always protected me. I think it hurt her very much when I met John and we moved up to Canada. But love is love."

"How did you two meet?" George asked.

"He was a miner."

Jane nodded. "Came to Wyoming for the gold?"

Smiling at the memory, Olive replied, "Yes. Had a bit of luck."

"Well, he met you, didn't he?"

Olive blushed at Jane's remark. "I meant with the gold, but yes, I suppose he did. He died in a mining accident in Bancroft 2 years ago."

The room became sombre at the thought of the woman losing both her husband and her daughter. George shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Blakemore."

She sighed and lifted her chin almost defiantly against the fates. "Ruth would say it's God's will." Her clenched jaw showed them what she thought of her sister's sentiment.

Bringing the topic back to their visit, Jane asked, "Did Virginia talk about anyone she'd met? Friends? A suitor?"

Olive shook her head. "No. She had a school mate or two, of course, but she was a shy girl. Kept to herself. The irony is, on more than one occasion, I told her she needed to get out with friends, explore the city. I didn't want her to stay cooped up with her nose in her books. She was young; I wanted her to enjoy it." The realization that she referred to her daughter in the past tense brought a fresh onslaught of tears. "My girl. My beautiful girl."

The three visitors looked at each other, uncertain what to do. It was George who rescued the moment.

"Is there anyone I can call to come over, Mrs. Blakemore? A neighbour or a friend?"

Composing herself once more, she pressed her lips together and nodded. "Mrs. Primbrook lives across the street. She's a dear old woman."

"Let me fetch her," George offered.

Taking that as their cue, Jane and Maura stood.

"I'm sorry we had to meet this way," Jane said. "I wish it had been under better circumstances."

Olive got to her feet. "I can't thank you enough, Sheriff. Ruth was right - you have a kind heart."

If the compliment took her by surprise, she didn't show it. "Your sister's family, which means you're family."

"What… what happens now?"

"Dr. Ogden will see to it that Virginia is sent home," Maura said. "No doubt she'll contact the local pathologist; they'll give you whatever help you need."

"And you two?"

"Our train doesn't leave Toronto until the end of the week," Jane replied. Anticipating the next question, she said, "Unfortunately, we don't have any jurisdiction here, so I don't think we'll be allowed to work on the case."

Olive frowned. "Surely this Detective Murdoch wouldn't say no to another set of eyes? You're looking for a killer!"

The mother's voice skirted the edge of shrill, and Jane touched her arm. "He seems like a reasonable man. I promise you, we will do everything we can to find out what happened to Virginia."

"Oh, Olive!" An octogenarian entered the room, arms held out for the grieving mother. "You poor girl. Let me make you lunch." She looked at George and nodded.

He nodded in kind. "I've left Detective Murdoch's information with Mrs. Primbrook," he told Olive, "and she's given me yours. I will personally ensure you are kept informed."

Olive sniffed and reached out to squeeze his hand. "You've been too kind. All of you."

"Come now, Olive. We'll have a bite to eat and then a nice lie down."

The trio stood outside and took a moment to bask in the noon sun. Taking her hat off, Jane wiped her brow and squinted into the sky.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" she asked no one in particular, though George was the first to respond.

"In what way do you mean?"

"This," she said, gesturing to the sky and the trees and the flowers that surrounded the modest yet clearly loved home. "There's a woman inside who's lost her husband and daughter in the span of two years. But life just goes on."

"I suppose you're right," he said sadly.

She adjusted her hat and sighed. "The best we can do is find out what happened to Virginia."

Maura linked her arm with Jane's. "Then I say we get to it."

…..

He stood facing the chalkboard, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Standing in the doorway, Jane wondered if that was his idea of 'casual', for while he wasn't wearing his Homburg, his tie was tightly knotted and his hair in place. Her low snicker caught his attention.

"Oh!" he said. "Sheriff Rizzoli."

She glowered at the title but said nothing of it. Instead, she informed him, "George is giving Dr. Ogden Olive Blakemore's information so they can get the body back to Etobicoke."

"Ah, I see. And Dr. Isles?"

"She went with George."

"He has taken a shine to her."

There was something in his tone that spoke of something more, and Jane wondered how much he knew. "She's an honest person; she won't lead him to think anything that's not there."

He tipped his head. "I never presumed otherwise."

She pointed her chin towards the blackboard. "Victim comparisons?"

"Yes," he said, "though there doesn't appear to be much to compare beyond their ages. Elizabeth Turnbull, the victim we first encountered, was a brunette and a seamstress. Virginia Blakemore, of course, was neither. We're still trying to piece together Elizabeth's life, but she doesn't seem to have any family."

"Similar to Virginia," Jane noted, "at least in the idea that her family wasn't immediately close by."

He considered the thought. "That may be something to keep in mind."

Jane pointed at the word 'woman?' that had been circled. "You're thinking the killer might not be a man?"

"It's something to consider. While Dr. Ogden suggests the age and gender of the victims might indicate a male killer, the manner of their death falls more in line with the psychological file of a woman."

"Yeah, but what does a pathologist know about psychiatry?"

He spun around. "While she may lack a degree in the field, Julia's intelligence is above reproach."

Jane smirked. "Loosen your tie there, Charlie. I was just testing a theory. 'Julia', huh?"

He lifted his chin in a valiant attempt to ignore what his outburst revealed. "Perhaps you should look into the field of psychology yourself, Sheriff."

"You do that just to annoy me, don't you?" When a neutral gaze was the reply, her smirk grew into a grin. "I thought so. Anyway, I think Julia could be onto something. Laudanum is a bloodless death. Easy enough to administer without raising suspicions, and easy to get. What else have you found out today?" Seeing his raised eyebrow, she looked away. "Yeah, sorry. I know it's not my place. Just habit."

"I think it's more than that; you have a connection to the victim, no matter how tenuous. It's perfectly understandable that you'd want to take part in the case."

"But it's a matter of jurisdiction."

"Yes. The law won't allow me to let you talk to witnesses or suspects. However, there's nothing that says you can't go over the information that's found. I can't see anything wrong with getting an additional opinion."

"You might regret that, William."

At her use of his Christian name, he inhaled a long breath through his nose and deadpanned, "I just might."

…..

"What will you do now, Constable?" Julia asked after taking Olive Blakemore's information.

"I suspect Detective Murdoch will have me tracking down background information on some lead or another. Most likely the people who had access to the house in the off-hours. What about you, Maura?"

"I suppose I'll save Detective Murdoch from Jane, and then…" her voice trailed off.

Julia caught the uncertainty. "You know, before you and George arrived, I thought about going over the old files on the Padgett murders. Perhaps you'd like to look over them with me?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea," George praised. "I can't imagine anything would get past the keen eye of you two doctors. That is, of course, if you want to stay."

"I'd love to," Maura replied. "Thank you, Julia. And thank you, George. You made a difficult morning much easier."

He touched his constable's hat. "My pleasure. I'll inform the sheriff of your whereabouts if she asks."

On an empty autopsy table, Julia laid out the file, separating pictures from notes, testimonies from reports. Once everything was spread out, she stepped back to look at the results.

"My first choice is the coroner's report," she said. "William deals with the external evidence - the suspects, the witnesses, the physical evidence - whereas I much prefer what the internal tells me."

"It's what's inside that often leads to the rest," Maura replied.

"Yes. Besides, we all have our unique strengths. The detective isn't keen on lurking too far beneath the surface."

"Squeamish?"

"You could say so, yes."

"So is Jane. Anything beyond a small cut and she runs for the hills." The two shared a laugh, then Maura said, "What are you looking for in the autopsy report?"

"I don't know," Julia admitted. "Perhaps something that looks out of place or something that's missing. It's always been my understanding that the family was killed through a combination of blunt force trauma and internal damage caused by stabbing."

She picked up the report. It only took a handful of seconds before Maura realized something was wrong.

"What is it?"

Julia flipped back and forth between pages. "The official cause of death was as I suspected: blunt force trauma coupled with stabbing. But the coroner's report lists respiratory depression in three of the victims, as well as symptoms of hypoxia in four others."

"Suffocation?" Maura asked.

"Possibly, but the attendants make no note of bruising around the nose or throat and according to the investigating detective's report, there wasn't anything suspicious at the crime scene. They were all murdered in their beds, but there's no mention of pillows or sheets being anywhere other than where they should be." She rattled off the facts, almost to herself. Examining one of the crime scene photos, she said, "Nothing looks out of the ordinary."

"So what would cause signs of respiratory depression and hypoxia outside of strangulation or choking?"

Julia ran through a mental list. "Any number of respiratory diseases: emphysema, pneumonia, bronchitis."

"Anemic hypoxia," Maura added.

"Cyanide poisoning."

As one, they looked at each other.

"Laudanum!"

The severity of their discovery wasn't lost on either woman. "But the coroner ruled it blunt force trauma and," she looked at the report, "'a multiple succession of stabs to the lower abdomen and chest'. He made no mention of laudanum."

Julia bent over to get a better look at the photo. Walking to her desk with a determined stride, she picked up her magnifying glass and returned to the table. Maura watched quietly as she went about re-examining the photo. A slight smile revealed her success.

Holding out the glass to Maura, she said, "Tell me what you see."

Without being given any further clue, Maura tentatively began skimming the photo. It all seemed to be in order, and she was just about to ask Julia what she was supposed to find when it became very clear.

"Stab wounds," Maura whispered.

"Yes," Julia replied with an edge of victory in her voice. "Or in this case, the absence thereof. And the knife that they claim was the murder weapon isn't in the picture."

"Where did they find it?"

"They claimed to have found it on the floor beside the father."

Maura didn't have to look at the photo again to know it wasn't there. "It was put there after the murders?"

"I do believe so, yes. The question is, why?"

…..


	11. Chapter 11

"What the blazes is going on?"

The bluster from a ruddy man with a neat part and manicured moustache caught the attention of everyone in Murdoch's office. William stopped mid-sentence and turned towards the door.

"Ah, sir, we were just going over the case, the two women who were discovered last night." He gestured to Jane. "This is Sheriff Jane Rizzoli. She was the one, along with Dr. Ogden, who found the second body."

"Sheriff Rizzoli?"

"From Wyoming, sir?" William prompted him with his question.

"Ah, right," he replied. "The telegrams." He turned to Maura. "You're not Ruth Murphy." His tone was more of hope than of certainty.

William's eyes widened. "Oh, no! This is her…" The three women leaned forward with curious intent. "Companion, Dr. Maura Isles."

"Well done," Julia whispered.

Murdoch was saved from any embarrassment when Maura spoke up.

"Are you a Yorkshireman?" she asked.

The address caught him off-guard. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"My grandfather was from Yorkshire," she said. "I never got to meet him, but my father spoke highly of the area and the people."

Her comment pleased him. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. "Thomas Brackenreid. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She returned his greeting with a beaming smile. "The pleasure's all mine."

Caught in her charm, he held on to her hand longer than necessary, until William politely coughed. Brackenreid blinked himself back to the present and tugged at his vest. "Right. So what's this all about then?" He glared at the black board.

"The doctors have discovered something unusual about the Padgett murders," George said. "Sir, we think they might have died from laudanum poisoning."

The older man frowned. "I thought cause of death was getting their heads bashed in?"

"The official report listed blunt force trauma and blood loss due to puncture wounds," Julia said.

He snapped his fingers. "Right. The old man got nicked for it because he collected knives. So wait - you're telling me that wasn't the cause of death?"

"Certainly not in relation to stabbing, no," she replied. "Photos clearly indicate there were no such wounds."

"On none of them?"

"None that we could see," she said. "I've contacted the cemetery and asked them to exhume the bodies."

"Will you still find laudanum in their system?"

She shook her head. "Unfortunately, 10 years is more than enough time for organ decomposition. However, I could very well prove they didn't die of blunt force trauma."

"The case will have to be reopened."

"We've already sent word to Station House 3 for their files," William added. "And to have word with the acting detective at the time."

Brackenreid snorted. "Better arrange a seance. Leo Fitzgerald died 4 years ago in a pub brawl. Stabbed, if you can believe the irony."

The news didn't dissuade William. "Regardless, we'll go over the file."

"Try talking to the new detective. Robert something or other. Sommerville. If I remember right, he was the detective's constable at the time. And we all know it's the constables that do the real work, don't we, Crabtree?"

"Indeed, sir." He recognized the playful trap a second too late. "What I mean to say is… while I wouldn't undervalue my own importance… that is…"

"Never change, Crabtree," Brackenreid said, "never change." To William, he asked, "What else? What's a bunch of suspect murders from 10 years ago got to do with these 2 girls?"

He sighed, hating to have to admit the truth. "The house. The laudanum."

Brackenreid picked up the trailing list. "And not much else."

"No."

"So work them as separate cases that might tie together in the end. Or not."

"Thank you, sir."

Brackenreid narrowed his eyes, as if gauging the sincerity of Murdoch's words. Finding no fault, he nodded. "Right. Well, get at it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isles. If you're interested, I've got a nice bottle of sherry in my office just waiting for a lady to share it with."

"If you have a bottle of Scotch, it's a date," she replied.

His eyes lit up. "Well! A woman after my own heart."

"Word of warning," Jane said, speaking for the first time, "don't let her trick you into games of chance while you're drinking. She still owns the 3 heads of cattle from the last man who thought they could drink her under the table."

Maura squeezed his arm. "Don't listen to her," she assured him.

"That's how it starts," Jane warned.

Brackenreid watched the banter between the women, and his eyes landed on Maura. "What is it about you female doctors and your tolerance for alcohol?"

"High levels of alcohol dehydrogenase," Maura replied, oblivious to William's inquisitive glance at Julia who suddenly found something interesting on the ceiling.

"High levels of alcohol dehydro- never mind," Brackenreid said. "I'll take your warning into consideration, Sheriff, if you take mine into yours." Jane encouraged him with a raised eyebrow. "Don't let my wife see you in those pants. I hear enough about the woes of the Temperance League over dinner as it is!"

…..

"What would you have me do now, sir?"

Once the inspector had left, the group turned their attention back to the board. Despite their best efforts, the case kept its clues well hidden.

"None of the work men raised suspicion?" Julia asked William.

Sighing, he replied, "None. Some had minor brushes with the law, but nothing that would indicate an escalation to this." He contemplated George's question. "Track down all the architects involved in designing the house. I'll need whatever plans you can find."

"And the detective? Sommerville?"

"Let's hold off for now; see if he'll come down to the station tomorrow."

"Very good, sir," George said before departing.

Julia pushed away from the desk and clasped her hands. "I would imagine there's at least one body waiting for me in the morgue by now." She looked at Maura. "Would you like to observe?"

Maura's face lit up and Jane chuckled. "Does she like to breathe? Go on," she said to Maura. "We'll meet back at the hotel for dinner."

Maura unabashedly kissed Jane quickly on the cheek, to Julia's amusement and William's feigned distraction.

Covering a smile, Julia tapped the folder on the table. "I brought the file back, minus the pathologist's report. I thought you might want it."

He nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

"I'll inform you of any developments."

With the office now whittled down to two, Jane suddenly felt the odd man out.

"Besides the hotel that charges half my wages for a cup, do you know where I could get coffee around here?"

He recognized her comment for what it was and ventured lightly, "Oh, I was hoping to get your assistance on a matter relating to the case, but I can certainly send you in the direction of coffee, if you prefer."

She scowled at his covert teasing. "Ha ha. I didn't want to assume, okay? What do you need?"

"I've had the evidence box from the Padgett murders brought up. I wasn't entirely surprised there was no fingermark report. I presume you're familiar with the process?"

"First recorded during the Qin Dynasty in 200 BC." When he raised his eyebrows in appreciation, she smirked. "Have you seen my 'companion'?"

Her candour caught him off-guard. "Indeed." Hearing his reply out loud, he stammered. "Not that I meant to imply I looked at Dr. Isles in any way other than professionally."

"I never thought otherwise," she assured playfully. "We all know you only have eyes for one doctor." Before he could muster a reply over his blush, she said, "Fingerprints. We call them 'fingerprints'. Do you have something set up for me to record them?"

Back in his element, he grinned. "Oh, let me show you!"

…..

"Let me help you with that." Maura jogged to the foot of the gurney and grabbed the sheet corners. "On three?"

They counted out loud and as one, lifted the covered body onto the autopsy table.

"Thank you," Julia said. "It's a pain trying to do that on my own." She flipped through the file that came with the corpse. "The father. Damage to his skull appears to be quite extensive." Pulling the sheet back proved the findings. "My goodness."

Despite the decade that passed since his death, the man looked in surprisingly good shape, save for the face that resembled a jigsaw puzzle.

Maura leaned over for a closer look. "The embalmer did an incredible job," she marvelled.

"He likely did his best with what he had," Julia said. "If the stitching is anything to go by, he had his work cut out for him." She felt along the skin which still protected the skull. Her fingertips inched over the curves and lines, and she nodded at her discovery. "The cheekbone has clearly been glued or set in some manner. The ridge is quite obvious." She continued her investigation over his forehead and into his hairline. She hummed again. "Yes. Here as well. That falls in line with the original pathologist's report. We won't know the rest until I undress him." When Maura stepped back to allow her some room, Julia asked, "I wonder if you wouldn't mind taking the notes? I find it much easier if I don't have to do both."

Maura showed her appreciation with a smile. "Thank you. I would very much like to take the notes."

Julia briefly stepped out of the room, and when she returned, music softly wafted behind her. "I hope you're not offended; I find I work better with music."

"Not at all. In fact, I do the same, though perhaps it's more to shield Jane from what she calls the 'caterwauling'."

Julia smiled. "You listen to opera?"

"On occasion, yes."

"You just missed 'La Bohème," she told her. "It was quite wonderful."

"You saw it?"

"Three times!" Julia heard her enthusiastic outburst and blushed. "Sorry. I don't get to talk about the arts very much. Those that want to talk about it are entitled and vain. Those that aren't seem to know very little about it. You're the first person I've met who takes the good from both."

"Oh," Maura said lightly, "I'm sure Detective Murdoch is a quick learner."

Julia opened her mouth to rebut, only to end up shaking her head. "If you're ready, Dr. Isles, shall we begin with the Y incision?"

"We shall."

…..

They worked well together, alternating between fashion critiques, medical discoveries and, when required, comfortable silence. Maura meticulously took notes of Julia's work, both of the autopsies themselves and of several techniques being used.

"Do you really think you can prove laudanum poisoning through the hair?" she asked.

Without looking up from her microscope, Julia admitted, "No. Studies seem to indicate the presence of laudanum and the like only appear in the hair shaft after a period of long-term use. However," she lifted her head and smiled, "considering how incomplete the original report is, I prefer to be overly thorough, if only for my own piece of mind."

She examined the sample once again, adjusting the lens to her liking. Currently on the 5th autopsy, Maura expected her notes to be the same as the 4 that preceded it, which was why Julia's reaction surprised her.

"What is it?"

Julia's brow creased. "There's an anomaly in this sample."

"What kind?"

Rather than answer, Julia took a previous slide and slid it under the lens. After a moment's examination, she replaced it with another. Seemingly coming to the same conclusion, she sat back and invited Maura over with a look.

Intrigued, Maura pressed her eyes to the microscope. "This is…?"

"The father's." Julia switched out the sample. "This is the youngest child. Eight year old Nicholas."

"I've longed for a microscope that could compare 2 samples at the same time." She looked up at the thought. "An optical bridge involving refractive lenses?" Realizing she had strayed from the topic, she offered a bashful smile. "Sorry."

Julia enjoyed the enthusiasm. "You need to speak with William."

Back to the matter at hand, Maura said, "The follicles are different."

"So I _did_ see that properly."

Maura switched the samples once, then back again. "There's a discrepancy in the diameters as well." When she looked for Julia's confirmation, she saw the woman searching her reference shelf.

"Ah-ha!" Pulling down a thick leather book, she flipped through the pages until an image caught her eye. It only took her a moment to confirm what she had already concluded. Turning the book to Maura, she said, "This wasn't mentioned in the family documents."

Maura's gaze swept over the information. "Nicholas Padgett was Asian?"

"It would appear so. Or, there was someone in his place."

The hypothesis only created more questions. Maura acknowledged two of them.

"Why would there be a boy in his place? And where's Nicholas?"

…..

"Any luck?"

Jane put down the magnifying glass and rubbed her eyes. The chair creaked as she stretched her length.

"No."

George, who had taken pity on her and had joined in on the fingermark search, agreed. Glancing at William, he said, "Perhaps the parameters are too broad, sir. With the murders happening ten years ago, we're comparing marks from everyone over the last decade. A narrowing would increase our chances, I should think."

"That's assuming our killer left prints in the first place," Jane reminded them.

George sighed. "He didn't appear to leave much of anything."

"The footprint is bothering me," Jane said. "I don't like it when I can't account for everything."

The young constable frowned. "How did you account for the knife in the photos?"

"That one's easy," she replied. "Pressure."

His puzzled look invited William to explain. "You know what it's like, George. We've had many cases the Chief Constable wanted solved in less time than was possible. The papers create confusion and panic, the public reacts which in turn puts pressure on those who are only doing what they can to solve the case."

George was all too familiar with the scenario. "I see what you mean, sir. But to go as far as to frame the grandfather?"

"Maybe they knew there wasn't enough evidence to convict him, but there was enough to close the case and get everyone off their backs?" Jane surmised.

"At the expense of a poor old man who lost his family. He became a pariah." George was clearly displeased. "That's not how I was taught policing, I can tell you that much."

"Nor I, George," William said. "But perhaps our investigation will help us set things right, assuming we uncover anything new, of course."

Jane lifted a finger. "I may have something to help with that."

William's brows rose. "Oh?"

"It's not going to do much more than make things more complicated," she warned. She laid out two photos. "This is the crime scene. Time of death was shortly after they all went to bed, between 9 and 10. They're all wearing night clothes, so that lines up. Now, beyond the knife, there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary in this picture. But there's something wrong if you look at this family photo."

George came around the desk for a better look, and William leaned forward. The two men looked back and forth between the photos until George finally confessed, "I'm not sure what I'm looking for."

Jane waited to see if William would come to a different conclusion. She wasn't disappointed.

"The shoes." He tapped the photo, singling out the youngest boy. "He's wearing two different sized shoes."

Now that the oddity was pointed out, George saw it immediately. "I've seen this before, sir! And ma'am." His voice rose in excitement. "I went to school with a lad who suffered from the same malady- he's got a club foot, sir."

"The deformed foot is smaller than the normal one," William said.

"Believe it or not, I've seen it in horses," Jane revealed. "One foot is always smaller than the other."

George rubbed his chin. "That's all well and good, but what's the connection with the other photo?" Instead of answering, both Jane and William waited, each willing him to the discovery. He snapped his fingers. "The victim's feet - they're both perfectly fine!"

"Well done, George," William praised with a proud smile.

"But then that means… this isn't Nicholas?" He left it as a question, uncertain if the thought was correct.

Jane nodded. "That's exactly what we think it means, George." She pointed to the photo. "Someone died that night, but it wasn't Nicholas."

"At least not in any of these photos," William said.

"But sir, if he's not in these photos, where is he?"

Scratching his temple, William confessed, "I don't know. What I do know is, I need another look at that house. The plans I received from the architects are frustratingly incomplete."

"Makes sense," Jane said, "if the grandfather got multiple people to design it."

"Indeed."

"So we're going to look at the house?"

He arched an eyebrow at the use of the word 'we'. "That won't be necessary," he said. "George and I can manage."

She chuckled and stood. Nudging George with her shoulder, she said, "If one of the rooms make you disappear, I'll have to explain to Maura what happened." Looking at William, she went on, "And I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for a Canadian pathologist who's good with a scalpel."

"And I would wager one who's very adept at hiding a body!" George helpfully added.

Jane jerked a thumb in his direction. "See? He knows. Consider me complimentary security."

Conceding the point, William dipped his head. "Very well."

"Great. But I've got to be back by 5; if I miss dinner, I'll have another doctor to worry about."

…..


	12. Chapter 12

"Dr. Isles. Dr. Ogden." Brackenreid folded his paper and stood. "What brings you ladies?"

"Actually, we were looking for Detective Murdoch and Sheriff Rizzoli," Julia replied. "I don't suppose you've seen them?"

"Mmmm," he said, "last I saw, they were huddled around Crabtree's desk, going over the Padgett case. Murdoch had those two poor sods going over 10 years worth of fingermarks." He cackled at the memory. "After that, all three left. I don't suppose there's anything I can help you with?"

"Unfortunately, no," Julia said, a gentleness in her voice. To Maura, she said, "I suppose we can wait until tomorrow?"

"I've got a better idea," he suggested. "It's half 4 now and they've been gone for 30 minutes. Why don't you both wait here in my office? Knowing Crabtree's habits more than I care to admit, no doubt they'll roll in just before dinner." When the women appeared to contemplate the offer, he added, "I've got just the bottle of scotch for the occasion."

Maura beamed. "How can we refuse, Inspector?"

Grabbing three tumblers and the decanter, he grinned, "Please, call me 'Thomas'."

…..

The layout of the house and the uncertainty of what they were even looking for turned an hour into two, and when William suggested one more walk around the building, Jane stopped.

"I understand, I really do," she said, "but if I don't get back, we'll all be in fear for our lives."

George chuckled at the image. "To be fair, sir, I am quite hungry. Besides, the architecture is so confusing, even with the plans, that I'm concerned we'll get lost."

"Hansel and Gretel," William murmured. Seeing the confused looks from his cohorts, he smiled. "We need to leave the equivalent of breadcrumbs the next time we visit."

"That's not a bad idea," Jane agreed. "You know what's a better idea? Food."

"Yes, of course," he said.

Catching him looking wistfully over his shoulder as they walked away, Jane warned, "Don't even think about it."

…..

It didn't surprise her when both men insisted on walking her to the hotel, and rather than argue, she used it as an opportunity to let George tell her more about Toronto. He seemed pleased to have her espouse his city, and William was more than happy to let him carry the conversation. She knew his head was deep in the case, but made certain to get the detective's assurance he wouldn't return to the house alone.

The desk clerk greeted her with a smile, and Jane bypassed the elevator for the stairs. Even with all the walking she had done since their arrival, she found the city lacked any need for real physical activity. She snorted at the idea of asking William if there was a steer around she could wrangle. The thought was still in her mind when she turned the handle to their room. The idea immediately vanished.

"What in tarnation…?"

The room, though still to the immaculate standards set by the maid service, now bore evidence of a level of revelry likely uncommon in such a stately hotel. Jane's eyes flitted from the overturned chair to a glass on the floor, to a deck of cards strewn across a table that also held a neat pile of beans, to a certain inspector unconscious in a rocking chair to the love of her life nonchalantly eating peanuts. The last thing catalogued was Julia Ogden who sat on the settee with Maura. Though it was evident she had been crying, her eyes lit up.

"Jane!"

The casual use of her Christian name would have been enough for Jane to put all the pieces together, but still, she summoned Maura with a curl of her index finger.

"So?"

Maura wobbled slightly and grinned. "So… what?" She pressed Jane's collar down. "You look naked without your badge," she pouted. "Well, not literally naked, of course. I've seen you naked." She hiccupped and giggled.

"So, what happened?"

"Well," Maura began, drawing out the 'ell', "we went to the station to give you and the detective some very important information we disover… discoved… found, but you weren't there. Where were you?"

"Never mind that. I'll tell you later. Keep going."

"The inspector invited us for a drink. We thought you'd come right back."

"Go on."

"You didn't. So I invided… asked him and Julia to come to the hotel. It was better than sitting in that stuffy old police station."

"I'm sure it was."

"One drink led to another and voila!"

The retelling made sense except for one thing left unanswered.

"And the beans?" Jane asked.

A giggle came from Julia that seemed to set Maura into her own fit of laughter. In between breaths, she managed to explain. "Thomas wanted to play cards. But we didn't have tokens so we called up the kitchen and asked them for beans."

"Uncooked!" Julia added.

"Uncooked. You should have seen the bellhop's face when he brought them."

"And let me guess," Jane ventured, "that pile of beans doesn't belong to the inspector."

"Nope!" Maura answered. "Mostly they're Julia's, but we agreed to spilt them."

"Split them," Jane corrected. "You agreed to split the beans."

"Split the beans! Split beans!" Maura erupted into a gale of laughter. Julia unceremoniously snorted.

Jane allowed them their moment of gaiety before whispering, "Why was she crying?"

In a hushed tone that was nothing of the sort, Maura replied, "William. You know, the detective."

"Yeah, I know him," Jane whispered back.

"She's married a man she doesn't love."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that one out on my own, too."

"It's horrible," Maura lamented. "I can't imagine what it's like to not be with the person you love. I'm so grateful for us, Jane. You are my greatest love and I can't imagine life without you. I'm thankful everyday for you, Jane."

"That's so beautiful!" Julia said, her sobbing starting anew.

Closing her eyes, Jane silently asked for strength. "Okay. I am not dealing with this alone. I'm going to call someone." Gently guiding Maura back to the couch, she said, "Stay here. You two talk about something other than someone's love life, okay?" Confident the inebriated women weren't going anywhere, Jane found the phone and dialed the front desk. "Can you connect me to Police Station number 4? Thanks."

…..

The soft rap on the door was answered immediately.

"Thanks for coming," Jane said to her visitor.

"How could I not?" William asked. "If nothing else, curiosity would have compelled me."

"Yeah, well." She turned and gestured to the room. "Consider your curiosity solved. Or whatever you want to call it."

"'Satiated'," came the helpful suggestion from the couch.

"Yes. 'Satiated' is a fine word, Dr. Isles." William glanced at Jane who responded with a shrug.

Maura grinned. "Thank you. No, wait," she said, growing almost comically serious. "I'm very upset with you."

His mouth opened and closed several times, both in confusion and in tact. Finally, he decided on, "May I ask why?"

William's confusion was compounded by Jane's, "Oh, no..."

Pulling herself up to her full height - which wasn't much against his own - Maura poked him in the chest and declared, "You made Julia cry."

He looked desperately at Jane, who simply shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't-"

"That's right," Maura interrupted. "You're afraid. Afraid to tell her how you feel. Afraid to admit that you love her and that you're hurting, too. Afraid to stand up for your happiness. Afraid to…" She trailed off and looked at Jane. "I don't feel very well."

"The bathroom!" Jane commanded, steering Maura across the room. "I'll be right back," she told William.

Now alone with Julia, save for the inspector snoring in the chair, William took off his hat to give his hands something to do. Sitting quietly at one end of the settee, she cut a forlorn figure with her red-rimmed eyes and her inability to meet his inquisitive gaze. As he wracked his brain for something to say, she beat him to the punch.

"You'll have to ask her about the microscope she wants to build." She didn't notice that her topic surprised him. "It sounds extraordinary, and I know you love to invent things."

He wasn't sure if she used the word 'love' intentionally, and decided against asking. Instead, he said, "Quite a night, I see."

There was a warmth in his voice that encouraged her to look at him, and she did so with a grateful smile. "For some more than others."

His eyes followed hers towards Brackenreid. "Evidently."

"She might be a while," Jane said, re-emerging from the bathroom. Nervously wiping her hands on her legs, she rocked back on her heels. "So."

"Yes," he said, recognizing the cue. "I'll make sure Dr. Ogden gets home safely."

Sympathetically, yet firmly, Jane replied, "I thought maybe you'd take the inspector home. I don't know where he lives and I'm guessing he'd be mortified to wake up in the morning with the two of us."

Despite his wants, he understood what the situation needed. "Yes, I suppose you're right. And what will…?" His eyes flickered towards Julia then back to Jane.

"She can stay here. The cot will finally get some use."

He quickly extrapolated why the cot hadn't been used, and blushed profusely. "Indeed."

Her lips twitched but she let the revelation pass without further comment. "Let me help you bring him downstairs. Do you have a carriage?"

"No," he replied, "but the clerk can arrange one for me. I'll come back in the morning for my bicycle." He put his hat back on and straightened his shoulders. "Hiring a carriage will also save me from having to stay and bear the brunt of Mrs. Brackenreid's ire."

With some difficulty, the two raised Thomas from his inebriated slumber enough to get him on his feet. They held him up by throwing his arms around their shoulders, and they moved towards the door in a staccato rhythm. It took some maneuvering and a copious amount of swearing on Jane's part, but they managed to get the door open and get themselves into the hallway. William took one last look into the room.

"Goodnight, Julia."

She had already shifted to a supine position on the couch, much to Jane's objection. With several moments passing, he wondered if she had heard him, but his question was soon answered.

"Goodnight, William," she softly, before her eyes slowly drifted closed.

…..


	13. Chapter 13

Morning came much too soon for some, and for one Toronto pathologist in particular. Every sound seemed amplified yet none were specific, instead blending together in an intrusive cacophony. She knew her lips were dry, but her tongue felt like it was four inches thick and she couldn't quite summon the energy to force it out of her cotton mouth. Energy for that particular job was redirected to the task of getting her eyes to open. Lids seemed to be anchored shut, and when she did finally manage a crack, she audibly protested at the sandpaper sensation that dragged across her eyes. Her moan got a chuckle from somewhere in the room, though her head was convinced it was everywhere. The only thing that was even remotely positive about the situation was the wonderful aroma of…

"Coffee?" Julia croaked.

"' _...that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing'_."

She summoned every ounce of strength to bring herself into a sitting position, and when finally there, she covered her eyes with her hands to give herself a moment to gain her bearings.

"Did you just compare me to Dr. Frankenstein's creature?" she asked.

Jane laughed. "Seemed appropriate." She sat beside Julia on the cot and held two cups. "This one is water. It'll help wash the acetylsalicylic acid." Seeing Julia's curiosity, she said, "It's not just the big city folk that know about modern medicine. In fact, I get mine from the Arapahos, though a pill is way better than chewing on willow bark." She waited to make sure Julia took her comment with the levity she intended. Satisfied, she continued, "Then take the coffee. Never found a better cure for a hangover."

"Ohhh," Julia groaned while she followed Jane's orders. Once the water and pill went down, things seemed to clear, and she was able to piece together what had happened. Flashes of scotch, the inspector, cards and… "Beans?"

Jane gently nudged Julia with her shoulder. "Seems like you and that one-" she pointed towards the bed with her chin, "decided to fleece the inspector of some cold hard cash."

"We used beans as markers," Julia finished, now remembering the events as the fog dissipated from her head. She remembered something else. "William."

"Hey," Jane said, quickly smothering Julia's apparent guilt. "You didn't say or do anything to be ashamed of. Don't worry, she got the trophy for that competition." Being labelled a culprit didn't do a thing to rouse the snoring Maura. Jane rubbed Julia's back to reassure her. "I'm not going to judge you. Neither will he."

Jane's ability to get right to the heart of the matter made Julia cover her eyes again. Her self-pitying lasted only a moment before she lifted her chin. "What's done is done. And if there's a silver lining to this entire mess, it was the fact I got to spend a lovely evening with your 'companion'." They both smiled at the term. "And, I got to have more of the hotel's wonderful coffee."

"Good."

They shared a quiet moment before Julia looked down. "I remember most of the night, but how did I get _here_?"

"Yeah, sorry about the dress," Jane said. "By the time I got back from helping William pour Brackenreid into a carriage, you were out on the couch. I could barely get you to the cot, let alone figure out how to get you out of that dress."

"I bet you don't say that often."

Julia's jibe momentarily startled Jane, who pulled back, mouth agape. "Oh, listen to you, Miss Hungover but Still Chirky." Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered, "Between you and me, it's a hell of a lot easier without the corset." A crimson flush spread across Julia's face, much to Jane's enjoyment. "There. We both had a chance to be embarrassed. Now, can I get you more coffee?"

Julia sighed. "As much as I would love to take you up on your offer, I really should go. What time is it, by the way?"

Jane glanced at the clock above the mantle. "Half 8."

"I really, _really_ should go." She stood abruptly and Jane steadied her with a hand on her arm. "Thank you." Getting her bearings and her bag, she walked to the door with Jane at her side. "Please tell Maura I'm sorry for putting her in the position where she thought she had to say something to Detective Murdoch."

Jane rested her hand on the door knob. "First, she would be offended that you think you forced her into anything, believe me. Second, she'll be around to the morgue later to talk about dead bodies, no doubt, so you can say whatever you think you need to say to her then. Oh, that reminds me - we found something in the Padgett case that you might find interesting."

"So did we," Julia said. "Perhaps we should all get together at some point later today to discuss our findings? Around lunch?"

Jane glanced over to Maura who hadn't moved the entire time. "How about a late lunch?"

…..

There were many things William admired about his boss, and that included the man's ability to recover whenever he had a night with his beloved scotch. After greeting the station house desk, he glanced towards the inspector's office and was not surprised to see him in his chair, albeit more than a little worse for wear. He was about to make his way to his own office when he saw the man wave him over through the window.

"How is he, George?" William asked as he passed the constable's desk.

"Quiet, sir." He gave a wry knowing grin.

William nodded. With care, he softly opened the office door and stepped inside. When the door closed behind him with an amplified bang, he pretended not to notice.

"Sir?" he asked louder than necessary.

Brackenreid winced. "Keep it down, would you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Right." He gingerly shifted in his seat. "One, I owe you thanks for getting me home last night. Have to admit, I don't remember much of it, but I know it was you and that sheriff. And I know it was you who took the brunt of the Mrs' wrath." William's grimace confirmed the words. "I thought as much. If it means anything, I got the rest of it when you left. Which leads me to number two: have you seen my pocket watch?"

William shook his head. "No, sir, I'm afraid I have not."

"Damn!" His short bark was louder than he intended, and he screwed his eyes shut. "She made me sleep on the bloody sofa when she found out I didn't have it. Bloody anniversary gift. I was told in no uncertain terms to not bother coming home tonight if I can't find it."

"Perhaps you simply wagered it on cards, sir. I have no doubt either doctor would be more than willing to return it."

The reminder of the night's shenanigans made the inspector chuckle. "Credit where credit's due, Murdoch; those ladies can drink _and_ play cards."

"I believe Sheriff Rizzoli did warn you, sir."

He waved away the comment. "Right. Where are you with the two dead girls?"

Thankful to be back on professional ground, William replied, "I've got George tracking down their activities over the last two weeks."

"You're hoping there's some kind of connection."

"Yes. In the meantime, we have a development or two in the Padgett case."

"Did you get the judge's warrant for the house?"

"Not yet," William admitted with a frown, "but I've got a hunch it will come this afternoon."

"Oh?"

"The court clerk mentioned that Judge Winthrop likes to have his desk cleared before the weekend."

"Well, thank goodness it's Friday, eh?" Brackenreid smiled. "And this Detective Sommerville?"

"I've asked him to come in later today."

"Good. Well, get to it."

"Yes, sir."

Two figures at the front desk stopped him short of his office for the second time that morning.

"Sheriff Rizzoli. Dr. Isles." His eyes went to Jane.

"Someone has something she wants to say to you." The gentle nudge between Maura's shoulders gave the identity away. "I'll kill some time with our favourite inspector."

"He's experiencing some difficulty with loud sounds," William said. "Do with that information what you will."

She mirrored his grin with one of her own. "Believe me, I will." Lowering her voice so only Maura could hear, she whispered, "Pull it off quick like a bandage. He's a nice guy, you'll be fine." She punctuated her words with a quick kiss on the cheek despite the public audience.

William gestured Maura towards his door while Jane went in the opposite direction. Once inside his office, he closed the door in deference to the conversation he anticipated Maura would initiate. Sure enough, it only took a few minutes of awkward silence before she spoke.

"Detective Murdoch," she began, hands clasped together. "William. If I may call you that." A small smile appeared when a slight nod gave his permission. "About last night…"

He nearly opened his mouth to object, to tell her whatever she had to say wasn't necessary, but he could tell she felt compelled to get it out in the open. With that thought, and some measure of trepidation, he remained silent, though his expression was amiable.

She cut to the chase. "I had absolutely no right to say the things I said to you. We barely know each other, and as Jane reminded me, you've kept your judgement about our relationship to yourself; I should do the same with your relationship with Julia. I know alcohol should never be used as an excuse, so I hope you'll find it in your heart to accept my apology." She stopped for a breath, which gave William the opportunity to give his reply.

"Accepted."

She pulled back in surprise, not having expected such an immediate response. "Oh. I mean, thank you?"

Taking some pity on her, he said, "I'm not very good at articulating my feelings, Doctor. Some would say it's been to my eternal detriment." His soft smile smoothed the edges of his words. "But I can say, you gave me much to think about, and perhaps one day, we'll talk about it."

"But not today." Maura nodded her understanding.

"Not today. Today, I'm much more interested in this microscope you want to build." Seeing her confusion, he smiled. "You weren't the only one who told me things last night. I've got plenty of tools here in my office. Shall we?"

His enthusiasm was contagious. "Yes, we shall!"

…..

The hard rap on the window startled him out of his reverie. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, bringing his chair to an upright position with a resounding jolt. His scowl softened minutely upon seeing his visitor. At his cue, she opened the door but didn't immediately enter the office. Instead, she leaned against the door frame and took something from her pocket.

"' _To my dearest Thomas. Every second with you is precious. Love, Margaret'_. She sounds lovely." Jane clicked the timepiece shut with a snap.

"Oh, thank heavens," he said. "My pocket watch. Where did you find it?"

She sauntered into the room and placed it on his desk before dropping into a chair. "Under a pile of beans." She paused and grinned at her words. "Anyway, if I were you, I wouldn't mention that to your wife."

"You don't know the half of it."

She pulled out a stack of notes, waved it twice, then put it beside his watch. "That's the money you lost last night."

He immediately objected. "Those two won that fair and square. I won't be reneging on a fair deal."

"Was it a fair deal, though?"

He tried to parse the secret meaning of her words by scouring his memories of the night. His eyes widened. "They dealt from the bottom of the deck. They cheated!"

Jane held up two hands. "Hey. I didn't say that. I'm just saying, one, I warned you, and two, never underestimate the sneaky beauty of women. God knows I've learned that lesson more than once, and I am one."

He let out a knowing, "Ah," at her unintended but revealing words.

"Anyway," she hurriedly went on, "you should have known better than to try to bluff against a head doctor. That was only ever going to end with your pocket watch under a pile of beans."

His moustache twitched in amusement. "I suppose you're right. Definitely about the women." From his seat, he could look out his office window and right into Murdoch's clear on the other side of the station. "What do you think those two are getting up to? World domination, no doubt."

She followed his gaze and saw William and Maura, heads together over a ream of paper. "Or a new strain of tea. Could be either."

"Just be glad they're on our side, eh?"

…..

She knocked on the window three times before finally getting their attention. Holding out her arms, she mouthed the word, "Hello?" and feigned bewilderment.

"My apologies, Sheriff," William said, once he had opened the door. "Dr. Isles and I were discussing this fascinating microscope. Rather than having to change slides repeatedly when comparing samples, you put them under two lens, and an optical connection of mirrors allows you to see both samples at once! It seems so obvious!"

"Yeah, fascinating," Jane drawled.

"Pay no attention to her," Maura told him. "I think we're really on to something, Detective."

"As do I, Doctor."

Jane coughed. "And the case?"

"Still waiting for the warrant, I'm afraid," he said.

"Well, in the meantime, let's go talk to Dr. Death. She mentioned this morning about you two finding something interesting?"

Maura's eyes widened at the reminder. "Yes! We discovered-"

Jane held up a hand. "Don't spoil it. We've got something to share with you two, too." She frowned at the homophone. "Anyway, I told her we'd go down for a late lunch and swap the information."

"Oh, no, that's, that's not necessary," William began. "You're more than capable of passing along the discovery. I've got to wait here. For the warrant!" His relief was palpable.

Jane sympathized, but she didn't let him off the hook. "No, it's something I think we should all share, don't you?" Finally, she took pity on him. "Listen. You're going to have to see her eventually, right? Like I told Maura this morning - you just gotta rip the bandage off and get it over with."

He sighed heavily and his shoulders dropped. "You're right, of course. Unfortunately, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time tearing open my wound."

It was the closest he'd come to showing his heart.

…..

"Jane! Maura!" Her voice lowered shyly. "Detective." With her back to the trio, she rinsed her hands in the basin and gave herself a silent vote of confidence. Turning around, she smiled, "Is it lunch already?"

"This one surprised me by rolling out of bed right after you left," Jane said, ignoring Maura's scowl. "Did we catch you at a bad time?"

"No, not at all. I finished up the rest of the Padgett corpses. As we discovered with the other bodies, Dr. Isles - nothing out of the ordinary."

"Yet we were told you did find something yesterday."

Julia's eyes didn't quite meet William's, instead finding a resting place on his lips.

"Doctor?" he gently prodded.

"Sorry. It was a rather long night."

The simple words held a depth of meaning, though Jane saved things from becoming too weighted. "By the way, I returned the inspector's pocket watch to him. You ladies should be ashamed of yourselves."

Maura protested immediately. "We won that fair and square!"

"Did you?" Jane's arched brow told them what she thought.

Rather than object, Julia said, "We had every intention of giving it back to him. His wife would never forgive us."

"His wife would never let him sleep in the marital bed again," William corrected. Seeing the curious looks of the three women, he sheepishly admitted, "I may have been told the missing time piece was the reason the inspector was forced to sleep on the couch."

Maura covered her mouth in shock and Julia bowed her head. "Poor man."

"They say that now," Jane said to William. "Mark my words - they were ruthless last night. I also returned the $50 you fished out of him."

"We intended to give that back," Maura countered, though her eyes betrayed her words.

"Uh-huh. See that?" Jane asked William. "Guilty as charged."

"But enough about that," Maura weakly replied. "Shall we tell you what we found?" She looked for Julia to continue.

"As I said, the remains didn't reveal anything unusual, except this one extraordinary detail." She retrieved the file and laid it open on the empty table. "These are 3 photographs of the hair samples I collected from the mother, the father, and the oldest son. This is the hair sample from the youngest son, Nicholas." She didn't have to wait long for Jane and William to come to the same conclusion.

"It's not the same as the other three," Jane said.

Julia nodded. "The follicle is round rather than oval."

"And the significance is?" William prodded.

"It's Asian," Maura answered.

Both Jane and William struggled to come to terms with the discovery. Jane was the first to speak.

"Wait. So you're saying the youngest son was Asian? I didn't see _that_ in the photographs."

William's mind raced a mile a minute, his eyes flitting to and fro until the puzzle pieces formed an image. "That's why he didn't have a club foot."

A smile spread across Jane's face. "Yes."

Confusion lined Julia's brow. "Clubfoot?"

"Let's show you _our_ pictures," Jane said.

William placed the case file beside Julia's and laid out two photos. "This is the crime scene. This," he said, pointing to the family photo, "was discovered by Sheriff Rizzoli." He waited while the two doctors inspected the images.

"Two different shoes," Maura said at last.

"Constable Crabtree mentioned it was likely due to clubfoot," William said.

"But William," Julia said, "there was no evidence of the youngest son having clubfoot. I found no such anomaly in the original report nor in my own autopsy."

He nodded excitedly. "That's because your body didn't have clubfoot. But he did have follicles that are of Asian origin."

She looked at the crime scene photo again. "There's no sign of clubfoot in this picture."

"And we're sure that's Nicholas Padgett?" Maura asked.

"All other family members were accounted for in other photographs," William answered.

"So in fact, we're _not_ sure that's Nicholas Padgett," Julia said. "In fact, we're almost certain it isn't."

"But what does it all mean?" Jane asked. "Let's work this out. A family of 8 get killed by blunt force trauma and laudanum poisoning. The youngest boy isn't who we think he is." She paused. "Bloody footprint in the room that can't be explained."

"The size of a child's," William whispered almost to himself.

"William! You're not saying-" Julia looked at Murdoch then at Jane. "You both aren't saying you think this boy, _this 8 year old boy_ , was responsible for the death of his entire family?"

"His entire family plus one," Maura added. She tapped the photo. "Whoever it was that took his place."

The enormity of the evidence weighed heavily on the room.

Jane blew out a long breath. "The real question is-"

"-where is Nicholas Padgett?" William finished.

Julia shook her head, as if the motion would make things clearer. Flabbergasted at the possibilities, she asked, "And how does this relate to our two victims?"

"Does it relate at all?" Maura asked.

"George mentioned he was following up on an idea he had," William said. "Let's hope he's found something, related to the Padgett case or not. The inspector's allowed me some liberties, but he'll soon want a suspect or a theory." He looked off to the side and shook his head.

Jane quirked an eyebrow. "What is it?"

He pressed his lips together. "There's something that's tugging at the edge of my subconscious," he said. "Something familiar, as if it's just out of reach."

"Avoir le mot sur le bout de la lange," Maura said.

"Ah, very good, Dr. Isles," William replied with a grin. "But not quite 'tip of the tongue'. More like 'tip of the brain'. Hmmm." When there didn't seem more to be said, he nodded. "Indeed."

He turned to collect his file just as Julia did the same for hers, causing their hands to collide in a charged jolt. She pulled her hand away quickly and he covered his pained expression at her gesture with equal speed. He gathered the photos and tapped the folder neatly before giving the women a tight smile.

Touching his hat's brim, he said, "I'll be at the station should anyone need me."

Once William was out of sight, Maura immediately said, "I'm sorry I made things awkward."

Julia's light chuckle was bittersweet. "Oh, believe me, Dr. Isles, things were awkward long before last night." She drew in a long breath through her nose and straightened her shoulders. "I don't know about you ladies, but I'm famished. May I interest you in my favourite restaurant?"

Jane patted her midsection. "My stomach says 'yes'."

"Wonderful," Julia replied, her mood lifting. "Perhaps afterwards I could interest you in a certain shop on Jarvis Street?"

The reminder of the risque shop made Maura grin wickedly and Jane pull her hat down lower.

…..


	14. Chapter 14

"You have a visitor, Detective," the uniform behind the station house desk informed him. A nudge with his chin followed behind.

"Thank you, Constable," William replied, his gaze following the direction towards Brackenreid's office. "How long has he been here?"

"Only 5 minutes or so, sir. I thought it best if I had him sit with the boss."

William nodded his approval. "Very good."

He crossed the room, noting that George had yet to return, and rapped gently on the door before entering.

"Sir," he said, before resting his hat at the end of the leather couch. "You must be Detective Sommerville."

A man roughly the same age as William stood and extended his hand. "Yep. And you're Bill Murdoch. I've heard a lot about you. Hell, the whole city has."

William sidestepped the praise. "Yes, well. Thank you for coming; I know you must be wondering why I've called you here."

"I've filled him in on the gist of the situation. Bill." Brackenreid's face broke out in a grin.

Groaning inwardly, William invited Sommerville to sit down and then did the same. "Perhaps you could summarize what's been said?"

"Sommerville was Leo Fitzgerald's right hand man during the Padgett murders," Brackenreid replied. "We didn't get much further than that."

Murdoch appreciated his boss' courtesy. "What do you remember about the case?"

The detective shrugged. "Hell of a thing. Eight people murdered. I was only on the job for 6 months. Came up from patrol. Green as the grass."

"And what was your impression of Detective Fitzgerald?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you find him thorough? Capable? Fastidious?"

Sommerville frowned at the word. "Fastid- he was a good man. Good detective."

William shared a look with Brackenreid who gave a minute nod in return. "I'll get right to the point, Detective. At any time during the investigation, did Leo Fitzgerald feel a pressure to come up with a suspect?"

The frown remained. "Of course. Eight people murdered. The Chief Constable was all over Leo to find the killer. Then the papers. You know how it is. Everyone with their own agenda breathing down your neck."

"I do," William agreed. "But I've never fabricated evidence because of that pressure."

Clenching his jaw, the detective gritted out, "What exactly does that mean?"

Rather than reply, William stood, removed the crime scene photos from his file and laid them out on Brackenreid's desk.

Sommerville leaned over to look. "What am I looking for?"

"A knife," William said. "After all, that was the key piece of evidence used to arrest Henry Padgett."

He sat back and shrugged. "It was found under the bed. None of those pictures have the right angle."

"None of the bodies have puncture wounds, either."

Though he tried to hide his shock, it didn't go unnoticed by either William or Brackenreid.

"We dug them up," the inspector told him. "Imagine our surprise when the coroner couldn't find the wounds that were supposed to have killed them all."

Sommerville mustered a weak defense. "I've heard your coroner's a woman, so-"

Brackenreid saw the storm in William's eyes. "Murdoch," he warned.

Curbing his temper, William flatly replied, "Should we ignore Dr. Ogden's impeccable record and numerous achievements, it would take a blind man not to notice the glaring lack of knife marks that would normally be left behind after such frenzied action, wouldn't you agree?" His look dared the man to do otherwise.

Sommerville shrugged again. "You got all the answers; why don't you tell me?"

The nonchalantness set William's teeth on edge. "You were under pressure to come up with a suspect in a high profile case. The leads dried up, but the pressure mounted, so you planted the knife and lo and behold! A suspect emerged. Did you assume there wouldn't be enough evidence to hang Henry Padgett, or was that just a happy coincidence?" Sommerville opened his mouth to protest, but William held up a silencing finger. "You risked the life of an innocent man to relieve the pressure. How did you get the coroner to go along with it?"

The detective looked everywhere but at William. "He was under the same pressure we were. I think Leo might have sweetened the pot a little with some money, I don't know."

"I spoonful of honey helps the medicine go down, eh?" Brackenreid asked acidly.

"And once Henry Padgett was singled out as your suspect, there was no reason to investigate further, was there?" William continued. "If you had, perhaps you would have discovered the real killer."

There was something in William's tone that compelled Brackenreid to lean forward in his seat. The room waited for the other shoe to drop.

William lifted the family photo, showed it to Sommerville, then placed it down again. "Interesting footwear on Nicholas Padgett, wouldn't you say? He's the youngest one, here." He tapped the photo. "A very fine and observant constable told me the shoes indicate a foot deformity, most likely clubfoot."

"I don't see what this has to do with the murders," Sommerville stated.

"This is a photo of Nicholas Padgett at the crime scene," William went on, ignoring the interruption.

Both Brackenreid and Sommerville leaned forward to look at the picture. It was the inspector who saw it first.

"Ah, there it is," he whispered.

"I don't-"

"The foot, you bloody sod!" Brackenreid bellowed. "The foot!"

"I… I don't understand."

"I think you do," William replied, his voice clipped and terse.

Realization slowly dawned on the detective's face, and a decade of lies made him turn green. "Nicholas Padgett killed his family? He was only 8 years old!"

William nodded grimly. "An 8 year old with access to laudanum. Respiratory distress and hypoxia. It was the one correct thing the coroner put in his report."

Brackenreid shook his head. "He poisoned his family then bashed their heads in to hide the fact that one of them wasn't him."

"Only the father and whoever this boy is had extensive head injuries. According to Dr. Ogden, the others were much more superficial and not nearly enough to cause death."

The inspector pondered the idea. "Anger towards the father, a cover for the body switch, a misdirection for the rest."

Sommerville looked off, dazed. "I can't believe it."

"And I can't believe two officers of the law would plant evidence to frame an innocent man," Brackenreid retorted, "and yet, here we are."

Very nearly at the end of his composure, William gritted out, "And if we find Nicholas Padgett had anything to do with two current murder investigations, I'll see that every one of your convictions is re-examined." He all but threw the photos back into the folder and snatched up his hat. "If you don't mind, sir, I have work to do."

Brackenreid simply nodded and watched William storm out of the office. He was glad the door remained open; he didn't think the glass could handle William's wrath. He had poured himself a drink and had the glass up to his lips before realizing Sommerville was still rooted to his chair. With a glare that could have peeled paint, he snarled, "Well? Sod off!"

…..

He dropped into his chair with a sigh, angry at himself for losing his self-command, angry at an injustice that hid itself for over a decade, and angry that, in the end, it got him no closer to solving the murders of Virginia Blakemore or Elizabeth Turnbull. He was rubbing his forehead in frustration when George appeared in the doorway. Wearily, William looked up.

"What have you, George?"

"Sir, I took the liberty of tracking down a hunch. We couldn't connect the two victims through mutual similarities, but I wondered about our killer; I wondered about his habits. You know, you try new things but really, you just end up going back to your favourite places. I suppose that's why they're called 'haunts'. We're like ghosts who just linger around and never leave."

"George?"

"Oh, right. So I went around some of the local entertaining establishments, thinking if I were trying to lure a young woman to something sinister, I might take her somewhere nice first. Butter the bread, as it were."

"If you're not careful, George, I may start to look at all of your romantic encounters in a completely different light."

The constable couldn't hide his grin. "Anyway, I showed pictures of the two ladies at The Golden Quail, and sure enough, one of the waiters recognized them both."

William perked up. "That's brilliant, George! Were they able to identify their dinner companion?"

"I'm afraid not. Just your general description." George flipped open his notepad. "Brown hair, brown eyes, average height. Nothing remarkable about him. The waiter seemed to think he might have had a limp, if that means anything."

William closed his eyes and groaned. "That's what my brain's been trying to tell me all morning."

"Sir?"

"The workmen we had in for interviews, George. One of them had a limp." He scoured his memory. "Nichols. Carl Nichols. He told me he was injured on the job. We had him, George."

"We can get him again, sir," he replied. "I still have his boarding house address in my notes."

"Take Higgins with you."

"Yes, sir."

"And George?" The young man turned in the door. "Be careful. We have every right to believe this is Nicholas Padgett."

"One of the murdered victims?" His expression was of absolute confusion.

Realizing he hadn't shared the afternoon information with his constable, William shook his head. "I'll be sure to give you all the details when you come back, George. Just know, he's a suspect in not only the murders of Virginia Blakemore and Elizabeth Turnbull, but his family as well."

…..

"I love how you tell that story as if you were there," Jane said.

After an hour in Hugo's Boutique, 45 minutes of which Jane shielded her eyes from the product, the women sat down for lunch and made a vow to talk about anything other than work. The conversation was filled with memories of Europe and childhoods and geographical attractions. When Julia mentioned Bill Hickok and his travelling circus, Maura shared the story of Jane besting Annie Oakley.

"Just because I wasn't there doesn't mean I can't be proud of you," Maura protested, leaning into Jane. "Besides, Zeke is such a wonderful storyteller, I felt like I had."

Julia enjoyed the ease between the pair. "Zeke?"

"Ezekiel Black," Jane replied. "Little sprout who wanted to be a lawman, and somehow latched on to me." She smiled and shook her head. "Guess I can't really call him that anymore - he's in his twenties. I've known his family forever but he seems to have grown up in a day."

"Time does get away from you if you're not careful," Julia agreed. Hesitantly, she said, "If I might ask - children?"

Jane turned her head to the side, as if trying to decipher Julia's question. "Oh, you mean us. Us and kids."

"I'm sorry. It's not my place to ask."

"No, it's okay. Most people just don't bring it up." Another smile from Jane softened her words. "We thought about it once, but…" She shrugged.

"We'd have to adopt," Maura finished, "and while I have nothing against the practice, being adopted myself, we've just felt we weren't in a position to do it properly."

"I think you'd make marvellous parents," Julia said.

"It's not that," Jane replied. "It's expecting someone to grow up in a world that looks down on their parents." Maura reached under the table and took Jane's hand in hers. "Don't get me wrong, Beybeck's fine, but most people's idea of accepting is by pretending not to notice. And that's with the people I've known for decades. There's a whole world out there I'd want him or her to experience. It's tough enough without saddling them with baggage from the start."

Maura squeezed her hand. "How about you, Julia?"

"Oh, I don't believe children will be in my future. At least not right now."

Though there was a finality in Julia's voice that tempted Jane to explore, she decided to let it go in favour of humour. "Well, if you change your mind, the Blacks have 11 kids to choose from. I'm sure they wouldn't notice if one went wandering off." The comment got the laugh she intended. "Now, I know from experience it's the ones who look the most innocent that get into the most trouble. So what's your story? Filled the classroom lock with soap? Switched sugar for salt? Got caught swimming in the nude?" Jane pointed at Julia's red cheeks and laughed uproariously. "That's the one!" She softly ribbed Maura. "This is gonna be good!"

…..

A/N: We find out in earlier seasons that Julia is sterile. It's one of the things (she thinks) stops William and Julia from being a couple.


	15. Chapter 15

They strolled down Wilton Street at an amiable pace, pleased by the food and the company.

"Will you still be assisting Detective Murdoch with the case?" Julia asked.

"Probably not," Jane replied. "I can't think of anything we can do now that will help him any better than his own lawmen. Besides, in all of this drama, we haven't had a chance to see the Exposition. I know someone was very excited to explore the textile tents."

Maura didn't try to hide her grin. "If I were to bother with a defense, I'd say we promised to bring back something for Mr. Harrington."

"The tailor," Jane filled in. "We brought an empty suitcase just for souvenirs!"

Under the shadow of the police building, Julia said, "This is my stop. If you have the energy tomorrow, perhaps-"

"Dr. Ogden!" George greeted the trio. "Sheriff. Maura."

Julia chuckled at Jane's eyeroll. "Hello, Constable. You're in a hurry!"

"Only to deliver some bad news to the detective, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"We think we found Nicholas Padgett." His delivery was so dry, the importance of his statement was nearly lost.

The women looked between each other, slightly bewildered.

"Sorry?" Jane asked. "The 8 year old murderer?"

"Technically, 18 now," he corrected, oblivious to the point. "Oh!" he said, catching on at last. "Right! The detective seems to think Nicholas Padgett is actually Carl Nichols, one of the men who worked on the Padgett house."

Julia pieced the information together. "He interviewed them yesterday."

"Yes. And apparently, Mr. Nichols, or Mr. Padgett, I suppose, had a limp. Detective Murdoch didn't think anything of it at the time."

"Why would he?" Maura asked rhetorically. "We had no idea of the truth about Nicholas Padgett."

"Indeed. Unfortunately, I visited his last known address. Not a trace left of him. The owner of the boarding house said she found the room key on her kitchen table yesterday morning and hasn't seen him since."

Jane frowned. "He must have known he was under suspicion even before he got called in for questioning."

"Why now?" Julia wondered. "As far as we know, he's remained hidden for the better part of a decade. Why risk revealing himself now?"

"I confess this is outside my expertise," George said. "Perhaps we should be talking to Detective Murdoch about this?"

Jane and Maura looked at each other, and despite the gravity of the situation, Julia smiled. "Looks like the Exposition will have to wait a while longer, ladies."

…..

"Julia." The professional mask that had slipped upon seeing her in the doorway went firmly back into place when he saw she wasn't alone. "George. Sheriff Rizzoli. Dr. Isles."

"It wouldn't be such a mouthful if you just called us by our first names," Jane suggested. "William."

George coughed lightly to cover his amusement. When the levity dissipated, he returned to a more serious tone. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, sir."

William raised up slightly on the balls of his feet and looked into the station house entrance. "Based on who I don't see, I gather you weren't able to locate Carl Nichols?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid not. Left the boarding house yesterday, hasn't been seen since. I even went by the Padgett house. No one's seen him."

Maura bent for a closer look of a model that was half-built on a table. "This is amazing," she marvelled. It only took her a moment to recognize the significance. "This is the Padgett house."

"Partly." William gestured to the plans that were attached to his blackboard. "The original was fairly easy. The additions are proving to be less accommodating."

Julia stood at his side. "It really is quite remarkable, William."

Growing hot at the compliment, he tried to deflect the praise. "To what end, I don't know."

In a voice that mimicked the house's tour guide, Jane intoned, "If nothing else, you might find the Murder Room."

He conceded the point with a light shrug. Perturbed by the lack of direction in the case, he pressed his lips together and frowned. "Why now? Why reveal himself now?" When everyone chuckled, he looked to Julia. "What?"

"I asked that very thing outside," she answered.

"And your conclusion?"

"That's why I brought them inside, sir," George said. "I wondered if we might not do some sort of collaborative effort, five minds working together to attack the problem. Like storming a castle, but with our brains. 'Brainstorming', as it were."

The word was met with blank stares, though Maura quickly jumped in. "I think it's a fine idea, George. Julia, your experience with the mind outweighs any of ours. Why do you think he's shown himself after all this time?"

"He must have had a catalyst, a spark that lit the fuse. An encounter. An event. Something so important, he would risk revealing himself."

"The grandfather," William said. "He passed away almost 3 weeks ago."

"Right around the time of death for the 2 girls we found," George added.

"But what was it about his grandfather's death that pushed him?" Jane asked. "He let his grandfather become the city pariah after the murders. Can't imagine he was heartbroken after he died."

"Death does odd things to people," Julia remarked. "There's often a large sense of regret or guilt when a loved one passes away, even if there doesn't seem to be any emotional connection. Perhaps he was fine knowing his grandfather would never have to go to prison, despite how it ultimately affected his life."

"But his death brought up all that repressed guilt," Maura finished.

"Yes. That's certainly one possibility."

George shook his head. "I can never get my head around why they think they have to go and, and kill innocent people to get their voices heard. Those two girls, they did nothing to him and nothing to deserve what happened to them. If he wanted to confess, or whatever it is we think this is, why not just write a letter and leave Toronto? We'd likely never find him and the truth would be out at last."

"You think in a very logical manner, Constable," Julia replied with a gentle smile. "We've seen more than enough of these cases to know that's generally not how a criminal's mind works. There is always a kind of disconnect along the way."

"I suppose," he conceded. "Still, it's hard to comprehend."

"It's probably for the best that you don't, George," William said. "With your experience, you'd be Toronto's greatest mastermind."

He glowed at the praise. "Thank you, sir. I mean, not that I would want to become a mastermind. But it's reassuring to know I could become one."

"So what now?" Jane asked.

William sighed. "Now we try to determine where he went."

"Easier said than done, I would wager," the constable said.

"Send Worseley and Hodge to the train station, George. See if anyone matches the description of our suspect."

"Yes, sir."

"What can we do, William?" Julia asked.

He leaned against his desk. "If you were in trouble, where would you go?"

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar." Warm brown eyes that fulfilled both criteria met hers and she quickly looked away.

"He must have had some help growing up," Maura said. "He was 8 years old. How did he get to be 18 on his own?"

"He likely ended up in The Ward," William said.

Seeing the confused looks from both Jane and Maura, Julia explained, "St. John's Ward. Not part of 'Toronto the Good' the city fathers like to advertise."

"It's no doubt where Nicholas Padgett found his double."

"No one misses a poor hungry kid when the place is full of them," Jane said.

"Indeed."

Maura frowned. "You don't think he's gone into hiding in this Ward, do you?"

"If he has, we'll never find him," William replied. "But no. He had a job and was presentable enough to entice two young women with his charm."

"You think he's still in Toronto."

He nodded at Jane. "I do. Which begs the question, what would Nicholas Padgett consider 'safe' and 'familiar'?"

George re-entered the room at the tail end of the question. "Whenever I'm feeling down, I always like to go home. Nothing like my aunt Begonia's warm bread and homemade jam."

"Home." William didn't have to say more. All eyes went to the model.

"He's in the house!"

The hubbub that followed was enough to bring Brackenreid over from his office.

He smiled at the women, then growled, "What's going on now?"

"We think Carl Nichols is in the house!" George exclaimed.

Brackenreid turned to Murdoch who immediately recognized the look.

"Carl Nichols is really Nicholas Padgett," he explained. "We think he's gone into hiding, in the old house on Elliot Street."

"The Murder House?" Brackenreid asked. "You're going to have a hell of a time finding him if that's true. Bloody things got 100 rooms."

"Fifty-five, sir," George corrected.

The inspector glared at the constable. "Be that as it may, isn't it filled with secret tunnels and mirrors and such? You two ladies almost found out the hard way," he said to Jane and Julia.

"I've got the plans," William said, reaching for the papers. "With a handful of constables, we should be able to go through the house in…" A quick calculation made the simple idea seem daunting. Julia came to the rescue.

"We don't need to go through the entire house," she said. "We only need to find the room we think will make him feel the safest and be the most familiar."

"How many rooms did you say the original house had?" Jane asked.

"Eight," George replied.

Maura quickly picked up Julia's train of thought. "He won't be interested in all the new additions. So in which room out of the eight would he find the most comfort?"

Attention turned to Julia.

"Well, I… Having never spent time with him, this is complete guesswork." No one looked away and she blushed under the scrutiny. "I would speculate it would be one of the bedrooms."

"The place where the murders happened?" Brackenreid asked and shuddered.

"That narrows it down to three," William said. He pointed to the model. "Here, here and here. Any thought on which one, Doctor?"

"He killed them for a reason," she replied, warming up to the subject. "Was he abused? Did he simply feel neglected being the only boy? Was he mocked for his deformity?"

Brackenreid snorted. "Not much of a reason to bash your family in, is it?"

"Different things affect different people in different ways," Julia said. "I'm not excusing what he did; I'm only trying to determine why. He was eight years old, felt helpless for whatever reason, but was clearly cunning enough to devise a plan to get away with murder."

"I bet he read," Maura offered. "Where else would he get the idea?"

"We saw the books in the drawing room, though," Jane reminded them.

"We saw some books," Julia corrected. "But where would a young boy go to read in private?"

"I had a little nook in the closet." George covered a cough when he realized the attention had turned to him. "I was the only boy in a house full of women," he defended. "It was the one place I could go where they couldn't find me."

Julia offered a sympathetic smile. "That's a very good theory, Constable Crabtree." To William, she asked, "Where was Nicholas' bedroom?"

"It appears he shared it with two of his young sisters," he replied.

"All the more reason to have a hiding spot," Jane mused.

William nodded. "This one." He tapped the area.

Jane squinted at the model then at the diagrams. "I don't remember seeing that room during our visit."

"As you pointed out, the host did say the murder rooms hadn't been found," Maura said.

"We have another problem. We don't have the judge's warrant to search the house."

Brackenreid scoffed at William's complaint. "Sod the warrant. You said it yourself, Murdoch - the judge likes to have his desk clean before the weekend. Tell the owner-"

"Joseph Bingham," George interrupted.

"Thank you, Crabtree. Tell Joseph Bingham it's on its way. Just don't tell him you don't know when."

"Yes, sir."

"Take some constables, but for heaven's sake, Murdoch, don't lose any of them!"

"No, sir. George, get Higgins to round up Worseley and Jackson from Union Station and have them meet us at the house."

"Yes, sir." He tipped his hat at the women and left.

William rolled up the plans and scooped up a handful of chalk from his board. "Wish me luck."

Jane rocked back on her heels and laughed. "Right. Because we're going to let you go to The Murder House alone."

"I'll have constables."

"With all due respect to the Constabulary," Julia said, "I believe we'll be joining you."

Her set jaw and defiant eyes turned her suggestion into a command, and it was one William had no choice but to meekly accept.

…..


	16. Chapter 16

"What's your plan of attack, sir?"

The group of 8 met outside the house, where William quickly brought the 3 other constables up to speed.

"As far as I can tell, there are 4 ways to get to this particular bedroom. Of course, the difficulty comes in finding those rooms. According to my calculations, they are rooms 4, 17, 19 and 31, which I believe are these." He tapped the building plans. "Fortunately, Mr. Bingham has helpfully written numbers on each door, but what I'd like each of you to do is mark the door with an 'X'." He handed out the chalk.

George pocketed his piece. "The purpose, sir?"

"Once you're certain the room doesn't lead to anything, it will prevent anyone else from searching the room again."

"And what if it does lead to something, sir?" Jackson asked.

William pondered the big man's question. "Proceed with extreme caution, but don't touch anything. Don't try to remove a book or lift a lamp."

"Or play the piano," Jane said.

He gave a wry smile at the memory. "Or play the piano. If it looks like it might lead to something more, remain in the room. We'll find you."

Higgins wasn't comforted by William's words. "We should keep some men posted outside, don't you think? In the event this Carl or Nicholas or whatever is in the house and escapes." The young man turned at George's scoff. "What?" Under his breath, he whispered, "I'm not sliding down some tunnel to my death, George. I have a date tomorrow night with one of the McGuire sisters."

Before George could pass judgment, William raised a hand. "Very good idea, Higgins."

He blinked his surprise at the praise, then puffed out his chest. "See, George? Very good idea."

"You and Worseley can stay outside and guard the exits," William continued. "The rest of us will go in pairs. Sheriff Rizzoli and Dr. Isles. Jackson, you go with George. Dr. Ogden, with me, if you will." Everyone nodded. "Commit the plans to memory if you can, and above all else, be careful. We've already experienced what the house has to offer, and we _are_ searching for a killer," he reminded them. "Any questions?"" When none were forthcoming, he tipped his head. "Very good."

…..

Though the convoluted design denied most outside light from entering, walking through the house in the late afternoon rather than at night seemed different, though it was no less confusing. Their starting point was the top of the stairs which lead to 6 different hallways. The first thing William did was mark the wall outside the hall on the far left. As the other two pairings chose a route, they did the same, and they all went their separate ways.

…..

"I'm surprised Detective Murdoch let the sheriff and the doctor come along. Dr. Isles, I mean."

George glanced at Jackson. "Yes, I can see why you'd think so, but I think the detective felt it was only right to keep them in the case, considering they knew one of the victims. And, of course, they've been quite instrumental in helping us get this far."

"Oh, I'm sure they're very capable," Jackson said. "I'm just surprised, that's all." George raised an eyebrow. "Well, they're women, aren't they?"

"Jackson!"

"Not that I find anything wrong with it," he quickly corrected. "It's just… well, having Dr. Ogden is already something of an anomaly. _Three_ women working on an investigation? That must be a record of sorts."

"We're six months away from the new millennium, Jackson. I should think this will become something we'll look back on in years from now and wonder why it seemed so strange."

Jackson thought about the possibilities. "Imagine, George. A female detective. A female inspector!"

"She'd be a sight prettier than Inspector Brackenreid, I'd wager."

The constable laughed. "Okay, George, that's two rooms. Do you really think we're going to find this murder room?"

George sighed and reached for another door handle. "I don't know, Jackson," he admitted. "And while I shudder to think what we'll find if we do, I worry what will happen if we don't."

…..

"Alone at last," Jane said. "Alone in a creepy, creepy room."

Maura laughed softly as they stood in the middle and looked around. They hadn't had any luck in the previous room, and the second one showed little promise of something better. Mindful of not touching anything that might trigger a trap, they peered at picture frames and bookcase edges, examined walls and pulled back the rugs, all for naught. Jane rested her hands on her hips and sighed. Sensing the impatience, Maura touched Jane's arm.

"It's only the second room," she reminded her. "I know you want to go in with both guns blazing, but patience will be the key."

"Mmmm," Jane grunted. "I guess I can do that. Besides, I only have one gun." She tapped the butt and enjoyed Maura's eyeroll.

"Shall we mark this one searched?" Maura asked.

"We shall."

…..

"You told everyone not to touch anything!"

William shrugged off Julia's admonishment and continued to shift and move small items in the room.

"I see," she said. "' _Do as I say, not as I do'_."

He admired her from under the brim of his hat. "John Selden. Very good, Doctor. ' _It is as folk do, not as folk say'_."

"John Heywood," she replied, pleased at the intellectual jousting. "' _Although I do worse than I teach you, do not do as I do, but as I teach you'_."

His brow furrowed. "Anglo-Saxon proverb?"

"12th century. Very good."

"' _All therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do not ye after their works: for they say and do not'_."

"That's clearly the Bible."

"That's cheating, Dr. Ogden. Gospel of Matthew."

"Cheating? You guessed 'Anglo-Saxon proverb'! You might as well have said 'Shakespeare'."

"' _And though she be but little, she is fierce'_."

Much to his amusement, Julia's mouth dropped open. "I am not little!" She pretended to not be moved by his laughter and failed miserably. "Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"

"Indeed."

They returned to their examination of the room, and despite Julia's earlier admonishment, William inspected items with both his eyes and his hands. Just when they were about to move on to the next room, something on the floor caught his attention. His finger followed the arc.

"A groove in the floor," he noted.

"Like the room we saw the first night we were here."

Gently taking her by the arm, he pulled her closer, pretending not to enjoy how she felt against him. Her eyes were full of questions, but he only answered one.

"If we find the mechanism to get it moving, I don't want us to be separated."

"Yes," she nodded. "Of course." She caught herself swaying closer and quickly took a small step back. "What must it be?" she wondered aloud. "There's no piano in this room as there was in the other."

He coughed slightly to cover his moment of weakness. "Yes, well, there must be something else. A light, perhaps?" He reached out to flick the switch. To his disappointment, nothing happened.

Julia carefully ran her fingers along the underside of a nearby table. Her search also found nothing. Dismayed, William began shifting his weight from one foot to the other, pressing down with a bended knee.

"A trigger in the floorboards," she said. "Very good, William."

His smile at her compliment turned into a frown at the results. "Nothing."

They both sighed in unison, nearly ready to give up when a candlestick caught Julia's attention.

He saw her curiosity and asked, "What is it?"

"They don't match." She pointed at the candlesticks that sat on either end of the mantle.

"I don't have candlesticks that match."

He confessed it so casually that she couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, William." Reaching for one, she lifted it, and was more than a little disappointed when nothing happened. She looked at William who bent his head.

"Please do the honours."

Despite the first attempt failing, she curled her fingers around the second candlestick and held her breath in expectation. She exhaled with a soft, "Oh!" when the floor began to move.

Needlessly stepping closer to her, he smiled. "Well done, Julia."

They pivoted slowly, and their curiosity grew in both anticipation and uncertainty. Just as the rotation was nearly complete, Julia picked up the candlestick and placed it between the mantle and the wall.

"The last time we went through this experience, you needed someone on the other side to reverse it. I'm not taking that chance."

The iron held firm, leaving a small gap between the rooms. Satisfied their exit was secured, they turned to face the next challenge.

"I should have brought a torch," William lamented at the dark stairs that loomed ahead.

…..

The mirrors were no less ominous in the daytime than they were at night. Warped images reflected back, some of which George was sure weren't of them.

"George!"

He jumped and touched his heart. "Jackson! Do not sneak up on me like that."

Jackson frowned. "How can I sneak up on you? The room is full of mirrors."

Wiping his brown, George replied, "Be that as it may, let's not add to the unsettling dread of the place."

"How many years of bad luck do you think we'd get if we broke all these mirrors?" Jackson asked rhetorically. He flexed in one. "George, I look like Louis Cyr!"

"Yes, well that one makes you look like Chauncey Morlan."

Defeated, Jackson lowered his arms. "There's nothing here, George. I'm beginning to think there's nothing anywhere."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, maybe Dr. Ogden got it wrong when she said Nicholas Padgett is here."

"First off, it was Detective Murdoch who came up with the theory." George thought about it for a moment. "Actually, I suppose I was the one who presented the idea."

"Wish I had known that before we started this goose chase." George's mouth dropped open. "No offense," Jackson quickly said, "but you have to admit, George, sometimes your theories are a little, well, unsupportable."

"I appreciate your attempt at softening the blow," George said sardonically. "Besides, in this case, the detective fully supported it." He looked around the room and blew out a sigh. "Let's move on, Jackson."

Standing outside the room, they noticed two sets of stairs at the end of the hall, one going up and one going down. Jackson took a coin from his pocket.

He flicked it into the air and said, "Call it."

…..

"I swear Maura, if the eyes on one of these paintings moves, I'm shooting everything."

Though the room did cast a pall, Maura couldn't help but laugh. "I'd say the house's designer knew a lot about the human psyche. Every room is its own unnerving experience."

"So I'm not the only one jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs?"

"No."

"You could've fooled me," Jane said. "It doesn't look like any of this bothers you."

"Don't roll your eyes, but it's because I'm with you. What did I say?"

Jane stopped mid-eyeroll.

"My biggest fear is being alone," Maura confessed. "I doubt it would take long before my brain worked against me."

"My brain works against me whether I'm alone or not," Jane said, her eyes darting around the room. "How do you think the rest of them are doing?"

Maura tilted her head to the side as if straining for a sound. "We'd hear something, wouldn't we?"

Jane nodded in agreement. "Not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing we haven't." She scrawled an 'X' outside the door. "Next."

…..

A/N: Louis Cyr was a famous French Canadian strongman in the late 19th century, and at 500+ pounds, Chauncey Morlan was P. 's "The Human Freight Car" back in the same time period.


	17. Chapter 17

In the absence of light, Julia and William made their way up the stairs with caution, their ears sensitive to any sudden sounds. Every shadow caught by their peripheral vision made them jump until Julia couldn't help but softly laugh into his shoulder.

"The human brain is a wonderful thing," she whispered.

A light grunt was his only reply. Once at the top of the stairs, they gathered their bearings and realized the long silent hallway was the only option. They moved as one, with Julia spooning behind William who curled his arm backwards to shield her from anything unexpected. There was a single door at the end of their journey framed by a light that seeped around the frame. They stood outside the door, craning to hear anything on the other side, but the only sound was their breaths mingling in their close quarters.

"William?"

Her question softly caressed his ear, and several seconds passed before he realized he hadn't answered. Rather than speak aloud, he simply nodded as his hand reached for the door handle. He flinched in anticipation of a squeak that never came. Relieved at the silence, he slowly pushed open the door. They were so intent on listening for sounds in front of them that they overlooked those from behind. The distinctive click of a gun being cocked reverberated in the narrow passageway, and both Julia and William realized their oversight a moment too late.

"You've made it this far," a voice said. "You might as well keep going." The gun nudged them into the room.

Immediately turning and ensuring Julia's safety, William faced the man whose identity wasn't a surprise, only a confirmation.

"Nicholas Padgett."

The young man with tousled brown hair snorted. "I haven't been called that in a long, long time."

"Ten years, in fact," William finished.

"A lifetime ago."

Julia stepped from behind William. "It's quite remarkable."

Nicholas frowned. "What's that?"

"All of it," she replied. "An 8 year old finding his own way for a decade. An 8 year old murdering his family."

He bristled at her words. "You don't even know me. You have no idea what it was like."

"Yes. The privileged life is a hard one, isn't it?"

"Julia!"

"Privileged," he snorted. "That was all for the public. Father had an image to uphold. He was a different man behind closed doors."

Her voice dropped to one that was soft and soothing. "Did he abuse you, Nicholas?"

As intended, her shift from harsh to comforting confused him. "You some kind of head doctor?"

"I help people, yes."

"You can't help me." His laugh was brittle. "You couldn't even catch me. Ten years you thought it was my grandpa."

She caught the distinction between 'Father' and 'grandpa'. "You loved him, didn't you?"

When he didn't answer, William asked, "Then why did you let everyone think he committed those horrible murders?"

Nicholas shrugged. "I knew there wasn't enough evidence to make him hang. Stupid coppers had to say there was a knife just to make people think it was him."

"Why did you do it, Nicholas?"

He took no notice of the confusion in William's voice. "The lady doctor is right; he was a cruel man. My father. Drank most of the family savings. Hit mother if the roast wasn't cooked just so. Expected too much of me. I was only 8!"

"Expected too much or didn't appreciate your intelligence?" Julia asked. "You were clever, weren't you? Still are, I would imagine."

"Clever enough to switch the contents of the paregoric bottle with laudanum," William said. "I'm curious: what precipitated the entire family needing paregoric?"

"Phenopithalen."

Julia's mind tripped over the word. Then it became clear. "Phenolphthalein."

William quickly caught up. "A laxative."

"For which paregoric is the solution," Julia finished.

"I put it in the afternoon soup. It was easy."

Whatever sympathy they might have felt for the boy quickly evaporated in the wake of his complete disconnect from his actions. His face was blank and expressionless, his voice had the timbre of someone reading a shopping list.

"And the boy?" William asked. "The one who took your place. Was that easy as well?"

If he heard William's judgment, he took no notice. "Found him in The Ward. Told him I'd take him home and give him a good meal and a bed for the night. Snuck him in the side entrance. Told him to wait upstairs in the bedroom closet. He didn't ask why."

"A good roof over his head, even if it was just for one night, would be enough for someone who lived every day in The Ward," Julia said.

"I had to wait for the laudanum to take hold," Nicholas went on, warming up to his story. "Father gave it to us at dinner because we were all feeling poorly."

"The effects of the phenolphthalein."

He nodded at William. "But eventually we all went to bed, hoping we'd feel better in the morning." His smile held a secret humour. "Once everyone was asleep, I brought some food up for the little urchin in the closet. I mixed it with my dose of laudanum."

There was a gap in the recollection that caused confusion for Julia. "It would have taken at least an hour for the laudanum to take effect," she said. "What did you do in the meantime?"

He shrugged. "Sat in the closet with the boy. He could read! That surprised me. I always had this image of The Ward being the refuge for the poor and illiterate." He looked off at the memory, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of emotion behind his brown eyes. "We might have been friends in different circumstances." The glimmer was quickly extinguished. "Anyway, I told him to get into a pair of my night clothes and he climbed into my bed. I almost had to drag him there by that point."

William pressed his lips together. "The laudanum was working."

"It would have worked much faster than on the others, considering his size," Julia said.

"Yes, I didn't think about that, but it didn't matter. He hardly weighed anything."

William looked around the room that seemed to be frozen in time. While the crime scene had been cleaned, it wasn't hard to imagine what had happened that night. Under the soft candle light, images came into focus and he saw the events play out before him.

"Why this room?" he asked. "Why come back to this room?"

"When you interviewed me, I knew I was at risk, and I knew I had to make some plans. I did all my best planning in this room." He chuckled as if sharing a joke with himself.

Julia blanched at the meaning behind the words and the cavalier way he said them. "And the girls? Virginia Blakemore and Elizabeth Turnbull? How did they fit into your plans?"

"I met them at the Golden Quail. Separately, of course." He gestured to his work attire. "Don't let this fool you, I can present myself quite well when I need to. They weren't really my type; they didn't have any money, but they were charming. We sat and talked about our families and our childhood. I invented a good yarn. Then we started talking about Toronto and both - both! - were fascinated with this house."

"They must have been quite captivated when you told them you worked on it," William said.

"You should have seen their faces!"

Julia touched her lip to hold back the nausea.

"So killing them was just…" William shrugged.

"I brought them to the house and showed them around after hours. We laughed and they jumped when I startled them."

"How did you get them to ingest the laudanum this time?" Julia asked.

His face crumpled in confusion. "I don't remember." He tapped the side of his head with the gun. "They were here and then…"

"Then Virginia Blakemore was at the bottom of shaft," William finished.

"I didn't plan on killing her."

"But you did plan on killing Elizabeth Turnbull, didn't you? Setting her up for someone to find her, during the time tours would be walking through the house, that took planning."

"Yes. We had champagne right in the very room. I thought, 'Why not?' They call it 'The Murder House' after all, don't they?"

Julia turned away in disgust.

"Don't move," he told her.

Spinning to face him, she said, "Or what? It's not really your style, is it? Shooting people? It's much harder to murder someone in an act of violence, face-to-face, isn't it? Believe me, Mr. Padgett, I would know."

The gun wavered ever so slightly. "I'm walking out of this room and this house and this city."

William shook his head. "You know that's not possible." Holding out his hand, he said, "Give me the gun."

He got it, but not in the way he imagined, as the heavy weapon struck him above his left eye. His collapse to the floor gave Nicholas just enough time to scurry out of the room and down the hall.

"William!"

Immediately at his side, Julia touched the wound and saw William wince. He tried scrambling to his feet, much to her dismay.

"You're in no condition to move," she protested.

"Julia, if he gets out of the house, we may never catch him."

Her admiration for his pursuit of justice, both literal and figurative, overrode her concerns as a doctor. But just barely.

"Give me your handkerchief." Once in her hand, she pressed it against his forehead. "Hold that firmly. Now, let me help you."

She helped him to his feet and he was off like a shot, one hand to his forehead, the other in hers.

…..


	18. Chapter 18

Jane touched Maura's arm. "Did you hear that?"

They stood stock still, eyes and ears on high alert. A rhythmic thump banged somewhere over their heads.

"Where is it coming from?" Maura asked.

They stepped into the hall and looked up. The noise seemed to be everywhere, though they couldn't pinpoint a specific location.

"Damn house," Jane muttered. "Detective! Julia!"

A muffled voice somewhere off to the left shouted back, "Jane!"

"Follow my voice! We're right below you!" She glanced at Maura. "I think." Wondering where the pair might emerge, Jane asked, "Everyone okay?"

"A small head wound," came from behind them.

Jane spun around with her hand on her gun before realizing who it was. Gritting her teeth, she said, "William Whatever Murdoch, you do that to me again and I will put a bullet right through you."

"You appear to have a better understanding of how to use a gun than Nicholas Padgett," William said, lifting the handkerchief from his forehead to show the injury. Julia pressed his hand back to the wound.

"What happened?" Jane quickly waved away her question. "Nevermind that. Where is he?"

"He darted down a hall and we lost sight of him," Julia explained.

George and Jackson thundered up the flight of stairs to see what the commotion was all about.

"What's going on?" George asked, slightly out of breath.

"We've got to get out of the house," William said. "It's likely what Nicholas Padgett is doing."

George stood, mouth agape. "You found him, sir?"

"No time," Jane said, shooing the constables back down the stairs. "Where's the exit?"

"Down the stairs, to the left and the left again," Maura recalled.

William shook his head. "The left then the right."

Julia checked the wound again. "Are you really going to argue directions with three women, Detective?" To Jane, she said, "Lead the way."

…..

As it turned out, Maura was right about the directions, and William was right about Nicholas Padgett's intentions. Uncertain of what happened or what to do next, the constables stood in a state of confusion until William pointed.

"There!"

His chase was short-lived when Julia pulled him back.

"No," she said, simply but firmly.

"I ran track and field in school, sir," Jackson said. "I'll go." He barely finished the words before he was off like a shot.

Not one to be left out, George also joined the chase.

"They're not going to make it," Maura whispered.

Those left behind saw the problem immediately. In the distance, but moving in quickly, was a steam engine at full speed. While Nicholas was hindered by his clubfoot, the train offered a tantalising barrier.

"If he gets on the other side of that train, we'll lose him," William said.

Eyes went to Jane.

"What? No." She understood the course of action they were asking her to take and she shook her head. "I can't."

"He's killed 10 people, Jane," Julia said.

"If I may say," Higgins added, "you knew one of them."

Jane looked from Julia to Maura to the constables to William. A glance up at the foot race made it clear - neither Jackson nor George would catch him in time. She flexed her fingers nervously, then drew her gun. The sight line was marred by various obstacles, the street filled with vegetable carts and horses and people. Looking ahead of Nicholas' intended path, she knew she only had one shot.

"How far can you shoot?" William asked.

Not wanting Jane to break her concentration, Maura answered, "She beat Annie Oakley at 50 yards."

"Schofield can hit at 60 if I gauge the drop right," Jane replied, her eyes never leaving the gun barrel.

"You're at 40 now, Sheriff."

"Yep."

"Forty-five," Julia quietly amended.

Nicholas jerked to the right and ran parallel to the tracks. He, too, knew his escape was in reach. The next ten yards would determine his fate.

"Fifty yards," William said with a slight panic to his voice.

The train whistled fiercely, the conductor having seen the chase unfold. Nicholas paid no attention to the warning. Jackson, a good 20 pounds heavier than his school days, began to labour behind and George began to catch up. The constable looked over his shoulder at the train that was barrelling down the tracks and ahead to the fugitive, and though he knew it was all for naught, he kept running.

"Fifty-five," Maura whispered.

William's eyes went from Jane to Nicholas and back again. "Jane…"

It only took a blink of an eye. The shot, the train, the whistle, and finally, the silence. The smoke curled from the end of the gun and Jane slowly lowered it. George and Jackson finally caught up as the train flew past. Jackson fell to his knees and George bent over, breathless and spent.

"Higgins," William said, "take Worseley and make sure Nicholas Padgett doesn't bleed to death."

Julia roused herself from her awe. "I'll see to it." She began to move but William took her arm.

"Stay. Please." He glanced at Jane.

Julia caught the silent motion. Gently, she squeezed Jane's shoulder. "Everything's fine, Jane."

She holstered the gun with a trembling hand. "Yeah. Yeah, of course." She blinked hard. "I've just never shot anyone before."

Maura took over from Julia and placed her hand over Jane's heart. "It's just the adrenaline," she soothed. "Deep breaths."

"We'll have to get your recollection of events on record," William said, "but not now. I suggest you two go back to the hotel and rest. Perhaps have some of that coffee you seem to enjoy so much."

His small smile drew one out of Jane. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'll do that."

Their exit was delayed by George who came racing towards them.

"What a shot!" he exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it, Sheriff! The skill required to measure the distance and the angle and the wind and… It was nothing short of spectacular." He was nearly as out of breath after his excited praise as he was after his foot chase. "I commend you, Sheriff. I really do."

"I believe you were told to call her 'Jane', George," William reminded him.

The detective and Jane shared a knowing look and a mutual smile.

…..

Nicholas Padgett did not bleed to death. Instead, he was in one of the cells under Station House 4 awaiting a trial that would ultimately lead him to the noose. Jane and Maura had just finished giving their version of events for the records when Julia knocked on the door frame.

William brightened. "Doctor. Come in."

"I heard you two were leaving us," she said.

Maura smiled. "'All good things must come to an end'."

"'Troilus and Criseyde'," William noted. "Very good."

"I don't know Criseyde from Campbell's Soup, but she's right," Jane said. "We changed our train so we can stop in Etobicoke before heading on to Chicago."

"Ah," he said, "you're going to see Olivia Blakemore."

"It's the least we can do," Maura said. "She'll have some kind of closure."

"You never got to experience the Exposition," Julia said. "That's too bad."

Jane blew out a long breath. "I think Toronto offered enough excitement without it." She glanced at Maura. "Probably kept our luggage lighter, too."

"I was only going to buy a few things!" she protested, much to the amusement of William and Julia.

Jane stood and winced at her protesting knees. "When did I get old? Anyway." She did a complete turn and held out her arms. "Where's my favourite constable?"

"Unfortunately, I believe one of his many aunts has come down with something," William answered. "However, I was instructed to give you his apologies." He pulled out a slip from his pocket. "And his address." Maura pouted, but took the paper.

"I see the inspector's out for the day, too," Jane noted.

William looked across the station into the office. "It's Saturday. Mrs. Brackenreid wouldn't take kindly to the inspector coming in."

"Tell him we'll miss him," Maura said. "And his scotch."

The four shared the amusement, and Jane sighed with a measure of contentment. "Circumstances aside, I'm glad we met." She held out a hand for Julia who surprised her with an embrace. "Oh." She stiffened at the unexpected show of affection.

"She's not much of a hugger," Maura explained.

"Oh, I don't know, I might hug this one," Jane said, relaxing enough to return the gesture. They separated and Jane wryly said, "Good thing I'm already taken." She winked at Julia's blush before turning to William. "I bet you're not a hugger."

"No." He held out his hand.

"Indeed," Jane deadpanned.

He narrowed his eyes but her face betrayed nothing. "It certainly was an unexpected meeting," he agreed, choosing to ignore her sly humour, "but not an altogether unpleasant one. I enjoyed our time together, and should the chance ever present itself again, you are always welcome here." Both Jane and Maura accepted his kindness with a smile.

Shaking his hand, Jane said, "You know, I've got a patch of land in Wyoming if you're ever interested. I hear they're digging up dinosaurs."

He quickly turned his attention to the one person in the room who would know of his interest. Julia pretended to be fascinated in everything but his gaze.

Jane laughed out loud. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He coughed and extended a hand to Maura who waved it away and pulled him into a hug of her own.

"Now I know what I look like when people hug me," Jane said. "Okay, we ready to go? This train is going to be long enough as it is."

"I was told you quite liked the train."

There was something playfully suggestive in Julia's tone that tweaked Jane's ears. Now it was her turn to seek out the one person who would have shared such salacious information, likely after several tumblers of scotch.

Maura used the embrace as a diversion, though her sincerity rang true when she whispered in his ear, "Take good care of yourself. And take care of her. We'll be expecting you one day."

She pulled back and held his forearms, the warmth in her eyes putting him at ease. He couldn't help but smile. "One day."

…..

The train station platform was considerably busier than Beybeck's, and Jane made certain to keep their luggage and Maura within reach. The locomotive came into view, slowing its speed at it approached the station.

"Do you think you could ever live in the city?"

Jane looked up at the sky from under her hat. "I dunno. I like the quiet. I like the open horizon. But I like you more." She snuck a glance at Maura. "So if you want to live in a city, I'd do it. For you."

"Would you really?"

"Sure. In fact, sometimes I wonder why you haven't asked me. About moving to Cheyenne or heck, even Boston. It's where your family is."

She looped her arm with Jane's. "My family is where you are."

"Sheriff! Jane! Maura!"

Jane being the taller of the two was able to see the voice's owner first. A smile spread across her face.

"George!"

He stopped in front of them and showed a smile of his own. "You didn't really think I wouldn't say good-bye, did you?

Maura wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "So all that about your aunt was a ruse?"

He shrugged shyly in the embrace. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Five seconds, George."

He pulled back quickly at Jane's gentle warning. "Sorry! I'll be considerably faster with you."

Even with the advance notice, Jane was caught off-guard by his clinch. "Oof!"

"I wanted to give you this," he said, stepping back. "It's a copy of my book. Well, two copies, actually. I wanted to sign them personally to each of you. I thought perhaps you could read it on the train. I'd be interested in your thoughts, especially when the mummy's curse comes back to haunt the archaeologists who unearthed him."

His enthusiasm was limitless, and Jane couldn't help but admire him. "The detective gave us your address, so expect a bag full of letters," she warned. "And you know, I know a young man who might like to write to a lawman in Canada." When he proudly grinned, she asked, "Do you know any?"

He lowered his head and laughed, acknowledging her joke. "Very good, Sheriff. If I can't find one, perhaps I can write to this young lad in their place?"

Jane put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed. "Zeke could do worse than grow up to be like you, George."

"Well, that's… that's very kind of you to say. My goodness. I feel like I have such a responsibility now. I'll do right by you, Sheriff. Jane."

The train hissed to a stop at the platform and people began shuffling around them.

"Looks like this is our cue," Maura said.

He caught the wistfulness in her voice and hugged her again. "Sorry. I'm just going to miss you both very much."

"When William and Julia come to their senses, make sure they bring you to Wyoming," Jane said.

Smiling broadly, he nodded and promised, "I will."

…..

Five days later, the packages arrived at the morgue, and after the shock wore off, Julia realized the contents of one shouldn't have come as any surprise. Using the quiet day as a cover, she had daringly slipped behind a screen and was now admiring herself in a small mirror. She wasn't sure her blouse was a match, but it drew her attention away from the form fitting pants that had replaced her skirt. She twirled an empty syringe around her finger twice before it clattered to the floor. A warm laugh made her jump.

"William!"

"Doctor." He fought the grin that tugged at his mouth.

"How long have you been standing there?"

He couldn't help but admire her form when she bent to pick up the syringe. "I… oh," he said, remembering the question. "Long enough to see you practicing your outlaw pose."

"I believe it's called 'gunslinger'," she corrected.

"Indeed. 'Gunslinger'." His eyes flicked down to the pants. "A gift from Sheriff Rizzoli, no doubt."

"Yes. I hadn't realized she snuck away during our visit to Hugo's Boutique. She surreptitiously ordered these for me. I'd admonish Hugo for going behind my back, but I dare say, these are glorious." She turned to admire herself in the mirror once more.

"They certainly are." Realizing he said the words aloud, he coughed. "The inspector found a bottle of Dewar's scotch in his desk, which I've been informed is one of the best scotches available."

"I wonder if he'll have second thoughts about drinking it." Julia smiled at the memory.

"Based on the two glasses he's had to begin the day, I'd say 'no'."

"I heard George received a pen yesterday."

"Yes," William said. "A Waterman pen. He's been writing on everything. I've tried to warn him he'll use up the cartridge, but, you know George."

The image made her laugh. "Yes." She swivelled left then right in the mirror. "And what about you?"

"Oh, I… I haven't collected my mail today. I'm not really expecting anything."

She turned to look at him. "William, really?" As she strolled to her desk, she pretended not to notice his stare. "Then I suppose I could just return this package?"

He was at her side in an instant. "Package?"

"It came today with mine. I believe it's addressed to 'Detective William Murdoch'?"

He frowned. "Why would it be sent here?"

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

His renown restraint was put to the test by the brown paper package as he pulled open the string. Julia watched him transform from a carefully composed man to an eager boy at Christmas. She touched his arm and silently encouraged him to continue. When the paper was removed and the box was opened, he pulled out his prize.

"Oh my goodness!" he beamed. "Julia! Look! It's the microscope!"

She leaned into his arm for a better look. "The microscope you and Maura were working on?"

"Yes!" A letter was attached to the instrument. William unfolded it and began to read it aloud.

 _Dear William,_

 _It looks like we weren't the only ones who have considered the advantages of two comparable microscopes. During our stop in Chicago, I spoke to a friend who had considered the same thing. In fact, he already had something of a prototype built. We spent some time together and I shared some of your ideas with him which he thought were brilliant. He wanted to give you some financial compensation, but I told him nothing would please you more than to receive a microscope for yourself. I hope I wasn't wrong! I sent it to the morgue so that both you and Dr. Ogden can share the benefits of this remarkable device. I know you will get a lifetime of knowledge from it and that pleases me more than you can know._

 _All my best,_

 _Maura_

There was a postscript in writing that was sharp and slanted. He stammered slightly as he tried to read it.

" _And now you'll... have an... excuse to go to the… morgue_." He said the final word before he could catch himself. Sighing, he looked up. "Jane."

Despite the underlying turmoil between them and the unresolved emotional trip wires that bound them together, there was something in the moment, in his face, in his resignation that made her burst out laughing. He basked in the sound before unabashedly joining her.

…..

Jane felt like the train that rolled into Beybeck - laboured and stiff. The trip had been a long one, even with Maura's talents, and it was a trip made even longer with a stopover in Chicago. By that point, she had seen enough of city life and could only dream of open fields and silence. Caught in her reverie, Jane was startled by a kiss.

"I'm so proud of you," Maura said.

Her arms found their natural home around Maura's waist. "Oh yeah? I don't know what I did but I'll try to keep doing it."

"You're just you, Jane," she replied, leaning in for another kiss, albeit more chaste than the first. "That's more than enough."

The train lurched to a stop and as much as Jane was enjoying the moment, she couldn't help but celebrate reaching their destination by exhaling a dramatic sigh of relief.

Slapping her arm, Maura said, "Move along, cowpoke."

"I can't believe we really needed that extra suitcase," Jane grunted, removing it from the compartment.

A porter materialized at her side. "Allow me, Miss."

"That won't be necessary," Maura replied. "Believe me.

She tipped him nonetheless and he touched his cap in thanks. By the time the simple transaction was over, Jane was ready to go.

"Stoke the fire," she told Maura. "Let's go."

"All right, all right."

If she had been blindfolded, Jane would have still known she was home. Something familiar in the air welcomed her back, and she took off her hat to bask in the sun.

"Welcome home," Maura whispered into her ear.

"Sheriff!"

Jane opened her eyes to the call and wasn't surprised to see Zeke stepping onto the platform. She was caught off-guard by his companion.

"Mrs. Murphy," she said.

Releasing Zeke's arm, Ruth hugged and let go of Jane so quickly, she hardly had time to register what happened.

Regaining her decorum, Mrs. Murphy brushed down her dress and said, "I just wanted to thank you for everything you did, Sheriff." She nipped Jane's protest in the bud with a raised hand. "No. I won't have it. Olivia telegrammed me to say you had added an extra day to your travels so you could inform her personally of what happened to Virginia. It wasn't necessary, but you did it regardless. We may have had our differences in the past, but there's no mistaking the fact you are good and kind people. Both of you." She included Maura with a quick nod. "I've made apple pie this morning. I expect you to come by the house and get one."

Her words brooked no argument, and Jane felt like a child brought before the teacher. "Yes, Mrs. Murphy."

Zeke's snort at the formality caught the older woman's attention. "I told your mother I would have two for her as well. Perhaps when you've finished helping Mr. Langley fix the post office floor you destroyed, you could pick them up."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"Hmm?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "Oh. The floor? It was… a simple miscalculation on my part."

"All that practicing you do shooting things far away. You'd be doing yourself - and all mice - a favour by improving your short distance." Without another word, Mrs. Murphy gave a firm nod and left.

It was obvious what had happened, but Jane wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.

"You tried to get rid of Mr. Langley's mouse problem by shooting them," she said matter-of-factly.

A bubble of laughter escaped Maura's lips.

"Well," he protested, "if you had dealt with the problem properly, I wouldnt'a had to take matters in my own hands."

"At least my idea wasn't to shoot up the place." A horrible thought crossed her mind. "What happened to the cat I brought in?"

"I didn't shoot the cat." He looked offended at the idea. "The darn thing jumped into the back of Mr. Lloyd's wagon and hasn't been back since."

"It could do worse than ingratiate itself with a butcher," Maura mused. "Anyway," she continued, hoping to change the subject, "Jane didn't shoot a mouse in Toronto, but she did fire her gun."

Zeke's face lit up. "Really? In the city? Was this about Mrs. Murphy's niece? Did the lawmen have guns?"

"Slow down, partner," Jane said. "I've got a suitcase full of souvenirs that seem to belong mostly to your family. I told your mother we'd stop by for dinner once we got back. I'll tell you all about it then." His disappointment was palpable and she had to give in. "Fine. One thing. Close your eyes."

She laid the suitcase down, popped the buckles and pulled out the surprise. Before he realized what was happening, she had removed his hat and replaced it with something else. He opened his eyes and frowned from under the brim that slid down his forehead.

"What in the blazes?" he asked with a laugh.

"It's called a 'homburg'," Maura explained.

He pulled the hat off to examine it. "Is this what the big bugs in Canada wear?"

Jane chuckled at the thought of William's face. "I don't know about big bugs, but I met a very good lawman who wore a hat like that."

He put it back on his head. "It's too big."

She looked at the boy who had become a young man. "You'll grow into it."

Pushing up the brim with a finger, he grinned. "I like it."

"More importantly," Maura said, "I think Grace McCoy will like it, too."

He blushed at the name and Jane lightly punched his shoulder.

"You can daydream all about her while you're fixin' Mr. Langley's floor."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied contritely. "Your horses are at the side of the station. I can't wait to hear about Toronto!"

"We'll see you at 5. Don't forget the pies!"

With Zeke gone, the platform was empty and quiet, save for Jane and Maura who watched the train continue on in the distance.

"Off to another adventure," Maura remarked wistfully.

"Or, you know, just dropping off feed in Cheyenne."

Maura took a step away and lifted her chin. "Hmph. I choose to believe in adventure."

Jane sheepishly slipped her arms around Maura's waist and nestled behind her. "There's a 4 o'clock train leaving for California. We'll leave the souvenirs here. Zeke won't care."

Maura turned her head to kiss Jane's chin. "Would you really go?"

"Wherever you go."

Maura turned completely in Jane's arms. "Lucky for you, you're enough of an adventure for me."

"Lucky for all the Beybeck mice, too."

"Indeed."

"Hey! Very good!"

"Come on," Maura said, "let's go home. Julia made a wonderful suggestion at Hugo's Boutique. I'm dying to try it on."

They couldn't get on their horses fast enough for Jane's liking.

…..

-end

A/N:

-Dewar whiskey was created in 1846

-Waterman fountain pens were designed by Lewis Edson Waterman in 1884

-Cheated a bit about the comparison microscope. Although it was created by a man in Chicago (Calvin. H. Goddard), it didn't come into being until 1929.

-A homburg is, of course, William Murdoch's hat of choice.


End file.
